


Eye of Another

by Diviana



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anxiety, Living Together, M/M, Memory Loss, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Talon!Dick, priest!jason
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-03-07 11:49:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 59,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13434102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diviana/pseuds/Diviana
Summary: There are two Gothams. There is the Gotham City established by the Wayne, the Cobblepot, and the Elliot families and known for its high population density with an even higher crime rate. There is also the Gotham City conceived by the Court of Owls and continuously governed from the shadows by the mysterious parliament. Which one is the real Gotham?Is the common or fantastical city real? For most cities, the truth exists somewhere between fact and myth. The line is blurred in Gotham City by its history with caped crusaders and capricious criminals. Making the distinction between misconception and truth is an arduous task.When Jason Todd discovers that one of the city’s urban legends is more fact than myth, the local priest toes the line between worlds. Taking in the wounded Talon, the two begin an unusual living arrangement. Balancing a normal life with nursing an urban legend, Jason tries to maintain his normal life - whatever counts for normal in Gotham anyway.





	1. Tidings

**Author's Note:**

> This work is a rework of a previously incomplete story, [Damaged Talons](https://archiveofourown.org/series/398620). You don't need to read or know of Damaged Talons to enjoy Eye of Another. The inspiration for both is the same but Eye of Another is better written and has significant plot divergences.
> 
> Notes can be read if you hover over at the superscript or at the end of the chapter.

“I don’t need your charity,” the priest smiled, hiding his hands.

“You’re pouring your blood and sweat into this church, Jase. The least you’d’ve is running water,” a broad woman commented.

Her booming voice echoed across the worn walls of the church. Her eyes widened with disbelief, forming circles so round that her eyebrows hid in the band that kept her textured, corkscrew curls from consuming her face. Her arms crossed over her chest pointedly.

Jason smiled, placing a hand on her shoulder, “Emily, your concern is appreciated, but I am fine.”

“Tch.” Shaking her head, she continued, “I’ll ask around. We don’t have much, but we’ll whip enough up for your water bill somehow. We got to keep our priest and my nephew looking proper.”

She frowned and added, “How many times have I told you to call me, Em?”

“I am grateful for your kindness, but I can’t ask that of you or the community.”

Emily placed her arms on her hips like a scolding mother catching her child’s hand in the cookie jar. Jason blinked almost sheepishly before he regained his composure. Holding his smile, Jason mentally squared himself for Emily’s caring noisiness. Her auburn eyes bore into him. In a tone that discouraged all argument, Emily stated, “It’s only right that the neighborhood chips in for your water bill. All you’ve done for this community, fixing up this church, that’s the least –“

Subconsciously, he moved his hand from her shoulder to his cross. He clasped the small ornament tightly and inhaled. Jason willed himself not to wander down that path. Holding back a scoff, Jason zoned his Emily out. His eyes scanned the church: the empty pews and raised platform.

“A ‘keep Father wet fund’,” Emily teased, chuckling.

“We are still in a church.”

She grinned.

Jason coughed. Turning his gaze out a window, Jason saw a rare blue sky.

 _No smoke,_ Jason thought.

_It’s my own decision to skim on the water bill. It’s almost that time to…_

_I need to ask Bishop to fill in for me next week,_ Jason noted, tightening his fingers around his cross. Jason swallowed. He traced his necklace comfortingly and straightened out his shoulders.

A sharp, pitched scream echoed through the building. The sound pierced his ear drums. Jason stiffened, determining the direction of the pained noise. Reflexively, Jason rushed through the worn pews toward the backyard. Pausing at the door to analyze the situation, Jason turned from side to side.

His ears absorbed the squeaking laughter of little ones, the grunts of a game of tag, and the lilt of jump rope songs. He tuned hiccups of a shaky voice. Shifting his head to zoom on it, Jason observed an umber toned boy, Malik if he remembered correctly, tugging on the braided pigtails of Allie near the chipped swings.

“Malik,” Jason warned, projecting his voice across the yard.

Malik froze with a pigtail still wrapped tightly between his fingers. Jason bit his lip, drawing in a long, calming breath. Then, he marched across the myriad of children to reach the two. Malik’s shoulders shrunk in, forcing Allie’s head to turn at an awkward angle. Her wet, honey-colored eyes peered up at Jason.

In a quivering voice, she whimpered, “It hurts.”

Kneeling on the ground, Jason reached forward gently moving Malik’s curled fingers from her braid. Softening his voice, he addressed Allie, “Are you okay?”

The small girl brought her hands to her face and balled up her fingers. Fiercely, she wiped the tears from her face as if to wipe out their existence.

She proclaimed, “Talon will hurt you –“she pointed her finger at Malik – “You big meanie.”

_“Allie.”_

Jason clicked his tongue as she run toward her friends.

 _One thing at a time,_ Jason thought, _Malik first._

From the corner of his eye, Jason saw Malik’s dwindling figure. Malik stared at his hand with his pinched with a mixture of confusion and disbelief. He angled his body as if readying himself for escape. Reaching out, Jason lightly grasped Malik shoulder. Observing the growing circumstance of his eyes, Jason relaxed the muscles of his face.

In a soft voice, Jason asked, “Why did you pull on Allie’s hair?”

As Jason waited for an answer, the sounds of the swings and children filtered back in. Several prepubescent voices sang off-key:

_Beware the Court of Owls, that watches all the time,_  
Ruling Gotham from a shadowed perch, behind granite and lime.  
They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed.  
Speak not a whispered word about them, or they'll send the Talon for your head. [1]

“Were you angry at Allie?” Jason rephrased.

Malik’s eyes glued to the fractured asphalt in front of him. His shoulders bent in reducing his surface area. Red tinted his ears. Malik shook his head ever so slightly that Jason almost missed the action.

Jason tried again, “Do you dislike Allie?”

The little boy’s head shot up like a rocket. He shook his head like his life depended on it. He protested, “Nope.”

“Then why did you hurt her?”

“Um… Aiden …” Malik muttered, “…dared… or Allie...cooties.”

“So you like her.”

Malik shook his head violently, but Jason detected the reddening of Malik’s cheeks. Jason stroked his cross, praying for the patience to deal with the ‘boys show girls that they like them by bullying them’ nonsense. He instead organized his thoughts.

Jason began as calm as he could, “Malik, would you like someone to pull on your hair?”

“I don’t’ve hair.”

“On your ears, then.”

“Nope.”

“Then, you shouldn’t do it to Allie,” Jason stated, “Luke 6:31. Do to others as you would like them to do to you.”

Patting Malik, Jason rephrased, “If you like someone, be nice to them because you want them to be nice to you, okay?” Now tell Allie you’re sorry.”

 _Now is it my responsibility to lecture Allie or. . ._ Jason pondered. _Maybe I’ll just mention it to her mother when she picks Allie up._

Jason stood up, brushing off the dust from his pants. He turned toward the church and hesitated at the sight of Emily at the back door. Jason blinked and arranged his expression. Opening his eyes, he headed back into the church praying that Emily forgot their conversation. 

“Don’t worry, Jason. I’ll teach my boy not to treat a girl like that again,” Emily announced.

Jason froze at the unexpected declaration. His mental rolodex turned and drew out Emily’s card. Listed under children, Malik appeared. _Oh!_ Jason thought and nodded encouragingly at Emily.

She grinned, a toothless smile, “Don’t think I forgot ‘bout your water situation.” 

Jason opened his mouth, but Emily interrupted, “When was the last time you did something for yourself? Haven’t seen you do anything fun since you’ve come back home –“

Jason clenched his jaw.

“My brother wouldn’t want this for you, Jase. Go out, date,” Emily stopped.

“Thank you for your concern,” Jason said. _But how I mourn is my business._

The figure of an older man appeared in his mind’s eye. Jason tapped his cross. He breathed in and closed his eyes and pulled an excuse from his rear – something about volunteers and directing.

* * *

Jason exhaled, opening his eyes. The shrill hissing of his kettle pulled Jason away from his thoughts. Edging his way around the narrow kitchenette, Jason flicked off the stove and poured the boiling liquid into a mug.

He glanced around the counter. Reaching out with his left hand, he picked up the discarded tea bag wrapping and threw it in the trash bin. He shifted further down to rise off and wash the dishes he’d left in the sink. It was hard enough living in a small space, but it would be unbearably small if filthy. Five minutes later, Jason removed the tea bag from his cup. He ripped it open to toss into his compost jar.

His phone lit up. The name Bishop appeared in a banner atop his phone nearly lost amongst the fire and crime warnings. Sliding his finger across the screen, Jason skimmed the text: _Sure, Todd. Just give me the details later. - B.R._

He quickly shot back a thanks and checked the time: 8:45 PM.

Jason lifted his mug. Blowing on the liquid, Jason opened his mouth. _Boom!_

Jason placed his cup on the counter. It sounded as if raccoons had knocked over his trash cans again. Jason reached for his cross, now tucked under a plain white crew neck. He looked toward his room. He debated whether or not to get the bat from under his bed. He grabbed his broom from its hook in the kitchen. Holding it defensively in both hands, Jason made his way out back. There was no need to be reckless. His church was located off downtown which didn’t stop crime from leaking in.

He trudged to the side of church annex that he called home. Peering around the corner, the chilly night air bit into his lungs. Two of the metal tins were laying on their sides, forming downward facing ‘v’. A third one was sandwiched between the two forming a slanted triangle. Gripping his broom more tightly, Jason edged toward the trash cans. His broom raised and ready to frighten off some raccoons and he pushed a can away to reveal –

“Fuck,” Jason touched his cross and exclaimed, “Oh fuck!”

Biting his lip, looked between the cans again. A man dressed entirely in black was pinned between the cheap waste bins. Holding the broom behind him, Jason slid in closer. The small upward movement of the man’s chest told Jason that he was still alive. Carefully, he pulled the trash cans off the unconscious man. Kneeling, Jason scanned him for any injuries. The man had long, unkempt black hair that obscured his eyes. The scent of smoke lingered around him. Looking closer, Jason noticed several branching scars riddled his neck. The marks stood a few shades lighter than his skin.

 _Track marks?_ Jason questioned then tossed the thought away, _No one is stupid enough to shoot up near their neck._

The scares almost appeared to be veins except for their strange whitish color. They branched off from under his strange one-piece outfit that existed somewhere between a skin-tight leotard and light armor. Tightening his hold on the broom, Jason wondered if perhaps a thief was in front of him.

He frowned. _Or someone else trying into break into the Gotham Rogue scene._

Stretching out with his free hand, Jason checked for a pulse. _He felt like an icicle._ The man shifted under Jason’s touch, groaning.

 _Clang_ , a small curved blade slid out from a holster on the man’s back. Jason picked up the blade. Holding it up to the moonlight, he noticed the scratches that lined the blade. He swallowed a groan. The blade hit the cracked asphalt with a dull echo. It landed with the emblem facing up, revealing an owl.

Jason’s breath quickened with his heart rate, a four beat tempo. The gears in his brain whirled, recalling the nursery rhyme from earlier this day: “Speak not a whispered word about them, or they'll send the Talon for your head.”

“Just my luck,” Jason groaned.

His fingers itched to cover this trouble so he could walk away. He stood without realizing it. Shuffling a step or two away, Jason rubbed his temples.

The man stirred, moaning in pain. Jason stilled. Once more his brain evoked a memory, but this one was an echo of his own voice: “Do to others as you would like them to do to you”. It paired it up with a more tattered memory:

_He backed away from the older man. White-knuckled, he clenched the wrench between his hands. He glanced at the empty street in front of him and to the alley behind him._

_The older man dressed in black, a priest, blocked off the path to the alley. The priest’s car stood between Jason and the street. Jason clenched his teeth and squared his shoulders._

_“If you give me those back, I’ll let you off.”_

_A hand appeared in front of him. Jason paused, blinking in confusion. He coughed, “What?”_

_Gesturing, hehummed, “Give me the wrench. How else am I gonna put the tires back on my car?”_

_Handing the tool over, Jason squinted his eyes and inquired, “You’re not gonna turn me in?”_

_“Should I?” the man asked, kneeling on sidewalk._

_He continued, “Here’s what I was thinking. You fell on some pretty hard times and had to turn to this to survive –“ he paused to adjust his position –“I turn you in and you get out in a day and end up back on the street until you’re caught again. Rinse and repeat.”_

_“So you’re not gonna bother with the law at all,” Jason chuckled, “thought priests were supposed to be goody-two shoes.”_

_“We’re supposed to do good,” the priest corrected, “I think I can do you more good if I offer you a meal and a bed. What’d you say? My name’s...”_

The same voice, later said, “Told you, I’d be there for you when you needed a bed.”

Jason sighed. Spinning his broom, Jason used it as a support as he leaned over to pull the other man over his shoulders. The random attachments to the Talon’s uniform dug into Jason’s skin. Using the broom as a crutch, Jason managed to half-carry, half-drag Talon back to his home.

Hesitating under his doorway, Jason stared at the beaten-up couch that he’d picked up from the side of the road. It was comfortable enough for a young bachelor like Jason, but it was no place to house a bloodied assassin from a secret organization that wasn’t supposed to exist. He carefully lugged Talon passed the combined kitchenette and dining room area to his bedroom.

The space wasn’t much nicer than the precious area, but at least the bed was in good condition. Jason had brought it when he’d first become a priest around two years ago. Depositing the dead weight on the bed, Jason went on the hunt for sponges, a bucket towels, and a first aid kit.

After rummaging through the clothing donations for items that would fit Talon’s frame, Jason tossed everything in the bucket and headed back to his room. This wasn’t the first time Jason had cared for an unconscious person or someone in costume for the manner. Jason lived in a church which strangely meant to some people that Jason had an obligation to help people no matter how strange or illegal the situation was. The fact that he usually did was beside the point.

First of all, remove all the weapons from the dead weight. There was no way he was helping anyone if he lost a limb from a poisoned dagger. Jason took the opportunity to feel for any potential broken bones. Starting at the upper torso, Jason traced the Talon’s shoulders to his well-defined chest to a toned stomach down toward his legs. Talon was on the slender side measuring no more than 5’8 and sculpted more like a ballerino than a quarterback.

“Well, it looks like you got yourself into some trouble…” Jason opened his mouth and paused, “What do I even call you? He who shall not be named? Owl’s Secret Weapon? Talon?”

“Talon,” Jason settled on until the man could correct him, “at least you don’t have any broken bones. Now I have to get your clothes off you because no one likes infections, not even deadly secret assassins, so don’t wake up and kill me.”

 _ **Deadly secret assassins.** Jason, why the fuck are you using pet-talk with a killer,_ Jason scolded himself, _if he’s awake do you want to give him a reason to snap your neck._

A different portion of him replied nonchalantly, you’re giving first aid to someone who doesn’t exist. I think it’s appropriate to respond with nonsense.

Jason pushed the small cache of blades and garroting wire behind him to be safe. Digging through the bucket, Jason pulled out a pair of scissors. Since Jason was perpendicular to the sleeping beauty, he angled his wrist to slip the edge under the Talon uniform. Despite its underwhelming appearance, the fabric refused to give to Jason’s scissors regardless of the strength he applied. The scissors shook and squeaked in protest.

Jason slouched, leaning into the side of bed. Observing the Talon’s face, Jason noticed that the man was rather attractive. His gaze dropped to the empty knife sheath and he reached from his necklace. The blood seepage from the Talon’s side urged Jason to hurry up. Sitting back up, Jason turned to look at the pile of weapons that seemed too numerous for the scanty uniform to hide. A knife glisten atop it all. His eyes jerked between the knife and the clothing.

“Oh fuck it,” Jason swore, reaching for the knife.

Placing along the seam and angling the blade outward, Jason yanked. He heard the tearing of fabric as he worked knife up the Talon’s leg and around his body. Jason carefully removed the clothing and bit down a laugh.

“So these things really are skin-fucking-tight,” Jason mused, trying not to wake the man.

In secession, his ears picked up the phantom sounds of an ignored, buzzing phone and the grunting breath of the horizontal tango. Jason dropped his fingers. Guilt, a festering old wound, flared up in his chest. Jason exhaled and looked at the injured person in front of him.

 _Focus, Todd,_ Jason mouthed, **focus on someone you can actually help.**

To be on the safe side, Jason shoved all bloodied clothes and weapons into an empty box. He dragged the items in the bottom of his closet toward the front and dropped the box behind them. He’d figure out what he’ll do with it later.

Stretching, he edged the weariness out of his bones. Jason emptied out the bucket onto the floor. Then he entered the bathroom and filled the bucket with a small amount of water. Arriving back in the room, he began working on cleaning up the blood caked on the man’s body. He eyed the line across Talon’s chest made by something sharp grazing his ribs.

Running through a list, Jason tuned into the task at hand, turning away any rouge personal thoughts: clean the wounds, check for any other serious injuries, and bandage him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Batman, Vol. 1: The Court of Owls 
> 
>  
> 
> **Author Notes:**
> 
> I have been working on Eye of Another for the last year and a half. I have the entire 22 chapters of the story done as a draft. I was hoping to have the entire story completed before posting again. However, I realized that I was going into the perfectionist route and this would never get done if I did not post as I edited my draft. I will try to keep up my revision schedule so I can update weekly. I hope that even if I fall short of that schedule - y'all will enjoy the ride. 
> 
> I will update tomorrow and do weekly after that. Would everyone prefer a weekend update or a weekday update?


	2. Dissimulation

_Where am I?_

He blinked. His eyes stung from the effort. Opening them, the world surrounded him in a dim blur. His shoulders tensed. A sharp pain bolted up from his chest. He opened and closed his eyes multiple times. His vision adjusted to the darkness revealing a white ceiling with a large stain on it. He flexed his fingers then formed small circles with his wrists. He continued with his toes and his ankles, testing his mobility. Cheap fabric crinkled under his movement, a bed.

_Am I on a bed?_

The strangeness of it clawed at his thoughts. He could not remember the last time he had been in one. A heaviness settled into his chest as he questioned once more, _where am I?_

“Hm...,” the sound of small breaths drew his attention.

The sound awoke his ears. They itched. The zooming cars and chirping birds filled the air mingling with the electric buzz of the house. He tuned his ears onto the light exhalations and soft palpitations from the man and followed suit with his eyes.

Resting his head in his arms, a jade-black haired man snoozed by his bedside. The white of his shirt shone in the early dawn light. Blinking again, he searched his memory for this tawny-brown toned man and came up empty. He sat up, scanning the room. The off-white walls barely managed to contain a full-sized bed and a dresser. The sleeping, twenty odd year old man filled up the gap left between the bed and the dresser. 

_Who is he?_

As if he was privy to his thoughts, the slumbering man stirred. He balled his hands up and squared his shoulders, ready to. . . What? The man straightened up, stretching his arms over his head. Even sitting, he could see that the man was taller than him.

_Who is he?_

“Morning,” the man yawned. “How you do you feel?”

“Who are you? Where am I?” he asked.

“That’s rude. You should introduce yourself before asking for somebody’s name.”

“I am –,” his mouth froze.

He closed his eyes, ravaging the contents of his mind for his name. _**Who am I?**_ His head pounded like a dull blade gouged at his brain. Several voices started in unison:

_“My little robin, in a few years you’ll be up there…”_

_Who am I?_

_“— is no more today Tal… rises!”_

**_What is my name?_ **

A rough, primal scream ripped through his mind. Then, it stopped. His chest followed suit. His lungs fought to expand.

_Who am I?_

The air uneasily released from them and struggled to return. His ears suffocated under a discord of voices: the beginnings and ends of sentences, the direct addresses, the echoing announcements all forming a static blur in his brain.

_Who am I?_

His heart thudded. A disjointed beat joined to his internal orchestra.

“Hey, sh-. Um...you don’t have to tell me your name. Just… um... listen to my voice, okay?”

 _The man_ , he recalled.

Nod, he ordered himself, uncertain if his body obeyed.

“All right, inhale. One. Two. Three.”

“Hold it. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.”

“Exhale. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Now, inhale one, two …”

His lungs filled with air. He opened his eyes. He stared at the man in front of him.

The man’s wide eyes relaxed. His gemstone blue eyes stood out even in the dim the early morning light. He lightly smacked his forehead. His cupped hand slid down his face and stilled at his mouth.

Narrowing his eyes, he muttered, “This is f- _ridiculous_. You have amnesia. It must’ve been from how banged up you are.”

“Sorry,” he stated, dropping his hand, “I’m Jason. Jason, Todd.”

“Jay-son,” he repeated, feeling the hint of familiarity as the name stumbled off his tongue.

With an outreached hand, Jason inquired, “What should I call you? I can’t keep calling you T –” “his mouth snapped shut. He corrected himself, “you all the time.”

He read the tension in the corner of Jason’s mouth as hesitation. The strange pause made him uneasy. He realized, _He’s keeping something from me._

“Call me Robin,” he answered, rubbing his temple.

“Robin?” Jason parroted, his mouth turned up at the corners, “That fits.”

“I think,” Robin paused as a woman’s soft voice sent his temple throbbing, “that was my mom’s favorite bird.”

“Your mom,” Jason repeated. His eyebrows knitted together as he processed the information.

“So a nickname, nice to meet you, Robin.”

“Where am I?”

“My humble abode,” Jason commented as he stood up.

He reached for a phone charging on the dresser. The screen lit up. Jason’s fingers hooked on a thin chain, tugging it up to reveal a small, worn cross. He clasped his hands over it and quieted for a moment. Opening his eyes, he turned back.

“It’s still early, ‘round 4 A.M.,” Jason stated, “How you feeling?”

“I feel tired,” Robin’s voice scratched its way out of his throat, hoarse from disuse.

He continued, ignoring the mild discomfort, “and sore.”

Jason raked his fingers through his hair, removing loose strands from his face. His eyes darted across Robin’s face. His mouth formed a firm line that combined with the stiffness of his shoulders read as reluctant and cautious.

Glancing toward the door, Jason asked, “Does it hurt?”

Hurt? Robin looked down, removing the woolen blanket that covered him. Through the white shirt, he made out the faint lines of bandages wrapped tightly against his chest. His ribs ached, a mild pinch compared to the pains he vaguely recalled from his past.

Robin answered, unconcern, “No?”

“No? Would it hurt for a normal person?”

“I think pretty badly,” Robin commented and shrugged.

His shoulders twitched at the attempt. His brain replayed the phrase: for a normal person. Robin frowned at the odd wording. 

“’Kay,” Jason nodded and continued, “Here.”

He handed Robin a small rectangular object.

“Put that under your tongue. Tell me your temperature when it goes off and lay back down. I’ll make you something to eat so you can take an aspirin for what looks like a nasty headache.”

Robin pinched the thermometer between his fingers. Scanning Jason’s tense figure, Robin tilted his head. His eyebrows scrunched up with similar confusion.

He questioned, “Why are you taking care of me? I am fine.”

Jason blinked. His eyes fixed on Robin’s chest and then narrowed. Sweeping back to Robin’s face, Jason bit his lip. An eyebrow cocked with disbelief and his mouth formed a firm line.

He explained, “It’s only fair that if I preach charity I practice it. I’m a priest after all.”

“You are a priest?”

“Don’t look so stunned.” Jason clicked his tongue. “Not all priest are old. Enough with the questions. Head to pillow now.”

Robin settled into the bed shortly after Jason stroll out the room. The sounds of pots and pans from the kitchen filled Robin with a foreign yet strangely comforting warmth. It wrapped him in its caring, melancholic embrace. The tantalizingly bittersweet emotion invaded his body filling a niche in his soul that he had long forgotten he had. Robin closed his eyes, digesting these unfamiliar sensations.

In his mind, he reached the voice that called him Robin. He grasped vapors. The smoke hugged him. It escaped through his fingers. 

Rustling woke him, Robin jolted up. Shifting toward the noise, he came face to face with a bare set of abdominals. Following the guide they created upwards, he looked at Jason’s face. His eyes were closed as he tugged a new t-shirt over his head. Spots of Jason’s shirt that clung to him were damp because of his wet hair. Jason opened his eyes.

“Good timing,” Jason commented, directing Robin’s gaze with a jerk of his head. Jason reached for a dress shirt as Robin glanced toward the left. A small bowl of white soup, a glass of water, and two packets of medicine laid on a fold-out table near Robin’s waist. Robin leaned forward, shifting until he sat at the edge of the bed. Gripping the spoon, Robin inquired, “What is this?”

The white fluid had the consistency of oatmeal. It was topped with similarly pale strips of chicken and bits of cilantro and green onions. A dash of black pepper covered surface of the soup. Jason glanced down, his fingers slowing their buttoning process.

“It’s congee. A member of the congregation taught me to make it. It’s like the Vietnamese version of chicken noodle soup.”

“Oh,” Robin replied, placing the warm liquid into his mouth. 

The texture was similar to porridge and it heated up his body in a pleasant enough way. His stomach clenched. Robin continued to eat despite the pain as the new sensation filled him with a fuzzy filling.

New? Robin questioned himself. His mind buzzed with a myriad of overlapping voices that caused his head to pulse with pain. He faintly recalled a needle and a clear liquid that flowed through it into his arm. Robin took another bite, banishing the voices.

“Well, you have an appetite,” Jason commented, pulling his battered cross over his church garments.

“Remember anything yet?” 

Robin shook his head. 

“Amnesia, I probably should’ve taken you to a hospital.”

Needles, scalpels, and green flashed behind Robin’s eyes.

“ **No** ,” Robin growled, dropping his spoon. 

Jason stepped back, reflexively. His palms raised in surrender. 

“No hospital, got it.” 

“Hm… You lasted the night so you probably won’t die. We should still have some check out your head even if it’s under the radar,” Jason hummed. 

His demeanor contrasted with his uneasy heart rate. 

“Is that fine with you?”

“No, it is more why does a priest have underground medical connections.”

“Gotham.” 

Jason’s tone was the sound of a shrug.

Robin nodded.

Jason’s shoulders eased. “Finish that; then take the painkillers. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

“Where are you going?”

“To my church. I need set up the yard sale,” Jason scratched his head and sighed, “It’s going to be noisy so you better sleep while you still can.”

 _Click._ The front door locked. Robin waited until Jason’s footsteps faded away. He pushed off the mattress. His toes knocked into a cylinder, sending a worn bat deeper under the bed. Circling around the fold-out table, Robin fingered through Jason’s dresser. There were an endless an array of plain threadbare shirts and tattered dark jeans. The top drawer had Jason’s church attire neatly organized and in better condition than the rest of his clothes. A box sat atop the dresser with a cross enshrined in it. The shape of the cross curved, distorted as if a person had bent it out of form.

The room was empty except for the bed that Robin had been resting on and the dresser. Opening the closet, Robin noted that the clothes hung evenly spaced along the bar. The handprints in the dust covering the boxes suggested the boxes had recently been disturbed. 

Robin exited the bedroom, gliding from room to room. The bathroom was bleached white with cracked tiles. The kitchenette was cramped and narrow. An area that could scarcely call itself a living room was pushed up against the kitchenette. It barely held a shabby couch and a scratched up coffee table. Robin circled back to the bedroom a mere half hour later.

Staring at the meager space, he frowned. His facial muscles tightened showing what he would read as confusion. He thought, _Why is Jason helping me?_

“I can’t preach charity if I’m not going to practice it” filtered back into Robin’s ears. _Was he telling the truth?_

Then, he thought of Jason’s oddness: stiff shoulders, tense expression, and hesitate actions. He does not trust me, but he is still helps me. _Why?_

Robin’s head throbbed. A whispery chorus of voices stated, _Kindness is a weapon._

Robin touched the wrapped pills. His hand stilled as his mind recalled a set of six similar objects forced down his throat. He drew in a slow and careful breath. His head pulsed. Robin clenched his teeth. Painful pins pricked his synapses.

If he wanted to poison, Robin pieced together a semi-coherent thought through the throbbing, _then the food. I ate, I am alive. No poison._

Tearing apart the plastic, he tossed the pills down and followed quickly with water. He swallowed too quickly for his gag response to be tickled. Robin stilled for a moment. _Nothing happened._

He leaned back into the bed. The soft yet probing worn springs alien to his senses. Closing his eyes, Robin was assaulted by the ghost of Jason’s presence. The smoky scent filled every niche of the room. From window near his head, Robin heard the chirping of birds and the bustle of the neighborhood’s morning routine. His heartbeat kept a snail’s pace as he demanded his muscles relax as Jason requested.

_The ground expanded out under him, an endless landscape. A cool metal bar was firmly pinned between his thighs. He swung through the sky, reaching his fingers out for his mother. He heard the audience gasping at his tricks. The crowd chattered in a mixture of Spanish, English, and a third unrecognized language. One particular set of eyes burned into him. He tilted his head toward that gaze._

_A man in a white mask beckoned._

_Gravity overtook him._

_The bar disappeared._

_The ground raced up._

Robin straightened up. He clenched his fists. He squared his shoulders. Turning toward the unwelcomed gaze, Robin scanned his surroundings. From the gaps between the window panels, a young boy peered at him. Framed by the plastic panels, his eyes widened into discs. 

Robin angled his head to gain a better view of the boy who respectively stared at Robin’s neck. Then from the boy’s throat erupted a surprisingly high-pitched scream. The boy scrambled out of sight, but his voice continued.

The sonic claws scratched and scraped the inside of his ears. The sound reverberated through his body, sending his bones quaking. His knees reflexively jerked toward his chest. He pushed his back against the wall. He clenched his teeth. Robin inhaled sharply. His chest rattled. Robin clapped his hands over his ears in self-defense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the second chapter. Should I continue weekday updates or switch to weekend updates?


	3. Cover

Groping along the wall, Jason flicked on the fluorescent lights. Stacks of donations welcomed him from the cramped and weary corner of the church that they occupied. The sight of it all spread a fuzzy emotion through his sluggish veins. Jason made a note to thank yesterday’s volunteers. Stretching his arms above his head, Jason pushed the lingering drowsiness from his body. He had work to do. Scanning the space, he mentally compiled a to-do list. The yard sale extended through the first half of the week and one of the church’s widely enjoyed events. He didn’t have time to spare even if he literally hid a nursery rhyme in his bedroom. At that thought, Jason glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the church annex he called home.

 ** _Knock, knock._** Two sharp taps at the door called for Jason. His shouldered jerked up. His mind conjured faceless men and knives then turned to more common masked men and guns. Inhaling, Jason swallowed his unease. Starting with his shoulders, Jason ordered his body to relax. He edged forward toward the door, passing the clock positioned on the left wall. His eyebrows crumbled together. He read, _5:30. Is the clock off? It’s too early for me to be here, much less anyone else._

_Gunman, Rogue, or Court_ , Jason ran through his worst options.

Jason stilled at the door. His fingers touched his cross. Closing his eyes, he almost could imagine another comforting and protective hand on his. Opening them, he arranged his expression, wiping away his tiredness. He unlocked the door and pulled it out ajar. He grinned.

An older woman of approximately 4’8 stood. Her head aligned with Jason’s shoulders, give or take a pinch. She bundled up in a scarf and shawl ward off the early morning chill. Her experienced lined her face like the rings in a sequoia. 

"Abuela Rosa, buenos dias. ¿Cómo estás?”[2], Jason greeted the short woman, switching tongues as he switched gears, “Why are you early? Volunteers don’t have to arrive until seven.”

She chuckled, her teeth shining against the earth tones of her skin, “Mijo[3], I am too old to wait for the sun to start my day. Let it chase after me,” she paused, peering into the empty church, “it seems like it chases after you too.”

Weighing his options, Jason factored in the effort he’d need to direct her and his interrupted planning time. He factored in the bird nested in his house… He needed to talk to her anyway. Jason clapped his hands together and smiled, “Thank you for coming. Welcome.”

Jason gestured to the entrance and flattened himself alongside the doorway. Then, he closed the door quietly behind her. Among the pews were stacks of clothing, toys, books, and other donations. To the left wall, folded tables, chairs, tents, and tarp were carefully arranged. Jason directed the elder woman toward the front, near knee-length mounds of odd, indiscriminate items laid atop plastic.

“These were donated last minute,” Jason stated and clarified, “you can help me sort them. The pile to the right is items that we can sell, the middle is recyclable, and left is trash.”

She nodded. Folding her feet under her, she sat down on the steps leading up to the platform. Jason stepped forward, palms flat up in the air. He said, “I can get you a chair!”

She shook her head. Her woven braids knocking into another with her movement. Her acorn brown eyes sharpened into spears aimed at his face. She stated, “I am not that old yet, mijo.”

 _That’s not what your arthritis implies_ , Jason retorted in his heart but buried that complaint. Keeping in character, he lightly nudged, “If you change your mind, the offer stands.”

She tucked her head in acknowledgment before she leaned forward, grasping a well-used wooden toy. Jason lowered himself, crossing his legs under him. They fell into a comfortable silence as they dug through the donations. The silence gave his mind a chance to wander. He recalled the undead assassin in his house. Jason repeated to himself, in disbelief, _I have a real freaking Talon, in my house. How to bring this up?_

He attempted to fly off of his high perch. He breathed deeply to clear his mind and to think more logically. The image of a round, tawny orange puffball nested in his head. He bit down a laugh as he corrected himself, _Robin. How does a legend, myth, secret of Gotham and a Talon, plucked from the closing of a forewarning verse in an old nursery rhyme by scheme obscured, in shadow end up choosing an adorable name like Robin?_

A belt shaped itself around the small creature with tiny daggers, a bandage encasing its chest underneath. Jason mentally cooed at the animal he had mentally conjured, _world’s cutest, legendary Talon._

Robin fit the bird theme of Talon and Court of Owls in a less ominous way. Something like Raven or Crow seemed more appropriate. At least they were associated with conspiracy, unkindness, and murder. Considering the rumors surrounding the Court of Owls, Robin probably participated in all three.

Jason clenched his teeth. Reality punched him. Jason inhaled as it went for his solar plexus: _There’s no delicate way to go about this._

 _Chirp. Chirp. Cheep, cheep, cheep. Chirrup. Chirrup._ The birds’ early morning greetings drew his attention southeast, to the area of his house. Jason’s fingers stopped moving. He blinked, looking down at the shirt he’d been holding for the last five minutes. It was a small red thing with a hole, the size of Jason’s pinkie, at the chest. He balled it up and tossed it into the unsellable pile.

“Mijo,” Abuela Rosa whispered.

Jason glanced over and replied, “Yes?”

“What is on your mind?”

Jason sighed.

“Jay- _son_ ,” she emphasized his name, reminding him of how he heard mothers scolding their children on television, “I have known you since you a boy. What is wrong?”

“I have a -” 

Jason bit his lip. His brain called up Robin whose parchment-colored skin was ice to the touch. _Was he even alive?_ Jason’s stomach lurched. The legend left that vague. _Other than the Court of Owl’s threat, what was a Talon?_

“A _friend_ who can use your help,” Jason spoke ambiguously.

She cocked an eyebrow inquisitively. 

“He needs some _pictures_ taken. Quickly.” 

“Oh!” she hummed. “Fancy or…”

“He needs good _headshots_.”

She pursed her lips. 

“He slept through the night so there’s probably no immediate need.”

“You let someone -” she swallowed her lecture. 

Even without the Court, Gotham’s walls had ears. 

“ _I panicked._ ” Jason mouthed. 

“ _Active_ pictures, Jason?” she slipped back into their veiled conversation.

Jason shrugged. “I’m not sure what he needs - I’m not a photographer.”

Abuela frowned.

Redirecting, he forced a chuckle. “Nothing is wrong and I told you to call me Todd when I’m dressed like this.”

He pointed at his collared shirt and lapel. Perhaps he should count himself lucky she didn’t refer to him by his plentiful childhood nicknames.

“Mijo.” she shook her head. “I am too old to change my habits. Jason, maybe your friend needs a studio. A professional, not my friend.”

She quieted, but her acorn eyes were stilled fixed on him with an intensity he’d only read of in books. It was motherly. It drilled a hole through him, overturning the crevices that Jason attempted to hide in. The mixture of concern and caring filled Jason with a conflicting emotion. Externally, he sat with good posture and confidence. Internally, he shrank. Jason emotionally crouched down to avoid the gaze. 

Words failed him. His tongue fumbled. 

_I fucking hate doubletalk._

“My friend wants a personal touch.” 

“Money issues?” she asked for clarification.

_It’s probably coming out of my pocket._

Jason prayed for this conversation to end before a headache matured. She turned, twisting her body from side to side. Her eyes picked the church apart. Jason angled his head in confusion. A light bulb went off.

Jason shook his head and added, “He’s at my house.”

“Oh.” Her lips puckered, forming a small circle. The moment hung in the air like the spherical wisps their breath formed. Abuela Rosa shifted on the ground. Her orbs gained an unfamiliar glint. 

In a more conspiratorial tone, she questioned, “Is he in _**trouble?**_ ”

Picking up her drift, Jason shook his head. _The Court of Owls is a totally different can of worms from the Gotham Mobsters._

“No more than usual for Gotham.” Jason vaguely answered. 

_He’s a Talon,_ Jason mentally groaned. _He’s a legend and the not runs ‘round in bat-shaped tights kind. Robin’s the kind that shouldn’t exist. I picked up an urban legend and I’m probably the only person crazy enough to try to help him._

“He’s my guest and he needs help getting on his feet. Even if I can’t help him, I feel like I have to give him a chance.”

An abrupt bright, lyrical laugh broke Jason’s concentration. She reworded, with a smile lining her face, “It sounds like you picked up a stray and fed it. Now it is yours.”

Jason blinked, digesting the comparison. _A stray?_

_He’s more like a bird with a broken wing._

She chuckled and continued, “So you feel responsible for him, to care for him until he heals.”

Jason found himself nodding. _Responsible._ That was as good a word as any to describe the heavy and reluctant emotion simmering in his chest. The injured bird was a fairly clever analogy although in Robin’s case it was more like a zombie bird that could kill him. Jason’s brow creased.

_Can zombies heal? Don’t they just get infected and rot?_

The Talon -- Robin’s skin lacked color. The muted sepia tones reminded Jason of corpses shown in crime shows. To Jason’s touch, his body matched the evening matched the low, late evening temperature. Jason thought he had carried a dead man home until he pressed two fingers alongside Robin’s neck.

_The slow thrumming under his fingertips, an unhurried and unlabored heartbeat, confirmed that. The Talon’s chest moved up and down in a similarly deliberate and precise pace. Jason had waited several minutes to discover that movement that separated Robin from a corpse. Jason blinked and wondered, how else is Robin different?_

A series of knocks broke Jason’s line of thought. Glancing to his right, he saw that it was now seven. Jason stretched his legs and headed to the front. Opening the door, a blonde with an undercut greeted him.

“Good morning, Bishop,” Jason greeted.

Bishop saluted, playfully, “Morning, Todd.” 

Peering over Bishop’s head, Jason counted two other early risers. He glanced down at Bishop whose head lined up with Jason’s chin area. Jason angled his head and wondered: Is Robin taller?

“Todd, you’re staring,” Bishop remarked.

Jason quipped, “I was just wondering why you’re armrest height.”

Bishop lightly jabbed an elbow into Jason’s side. “Not everyone is a 6 foot giant.”

“6’2.”

A smirk appeared at the sight of Bishop adjusting their posture to fill out and up.

“Are we here to have a bragging contest or work?”

Regaining his composure, Jason flattened out his expression. He glanced at the volunteers and Bishop. Stepping away from the door, he gestured for them to enter. 

“So what do you want me to do, boss?” Bishop asked. 

Jason pointed his head. “Start setting up, boss?”

“Roger that.”

 _Knock. Knock. Knock._ Jason barely finished addressing Bishop before the front door vibrated, calling for him. _Knock. Knock. Knock._ He’d have to push Robin to the back of his head for now. There wasn’t much he could do until Abuelita got back to him anyway.

* * *

“I can’t accept this,” Jason protested. 

He held his hands up, palms flat. He backed up, moving away from the woman edging towards him. The mousy woman pushed the plastic bag toward his hands again and again. The containers shifted with her movements. A breeze blew the strong scent of fish sauce toward him.

“Take it, Father Todd,” she ordered, “Emily told me you’re short on money this week.”

“You have three kids to feed,” Jason continued protesting, “I can’t impose on you.”

She shook her head and directed, “Take it. My friend gave me too much fish. We have been eating it for days.”

“Mrs. Ngo, I am fine. Give it to Peter or Jennifer or Alan.” He frowned. _I need to stop Emily. The Neighborhood’s acting like I’m a charity case. It’s been years since…_

Jason subconsciously placed his palm on his chest to stop that train of thought in its tracks. 

_At least, until I sort Robin out._

“My husband is sick of eating fish,” she commented, “the children too.”

“I see,“ Jason sighed.

He grabbed the bag. 

“Thank you.”

A shrill, blood-curdling scream pierced the idle chatter of the yard sale. 

Jason jerked his head, southwest. In a rapid series, his head and heart overflowed: _screaming, his house, an undead assassin, and a church full of potential victims._ _Not again_ sped through his brain as he pumped his feet. Before he realized it, he cut through the church building into the back. The dirt created a low cloud as he rushed. He circled his house to the source of the screaming. A young boy was on the ground with one arm bracing himself. 

“Malik?” Jason questioned, tiptoeing toward the frightened child.

Malik turned his head toward Jason, lowering his arm. His dark eyes were wide. His mouth trembled stuttered, “Ghost! There’s a _go-ghost_.”

His finger pointed at the window, shaking. 

Following that hand, blue eyes stared back at Jason. He stepped closer, peering into the window. Robin pinned his ears between his palms. 

Robin’s as freaked out as the kid. Jason exhaled out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Jason gaze jerked from the frightened boy to the confused man. Swallowing a laugh, Jason shifted to face Malik. Erring on the safe side, Jason placed himself between Malik and the window.

Reaching out a hand, he corrected, “Robin’s not a ghost. He’s my guest.”

Malik cupped Jason’s hand and pulled himself off the dirt ground. Malik’s gripe was a vise around Jason’s forearm as if he were trying to draw bravery from Jason’s grasp. Peering around Jason, Malik’s shoulders were turned inward, uncertain. 

He whispered, “He’s not a ghost?”

“No,” Jason repeated, “not a ghost.”

 _A killer from a secret organization, but that’s a totally different story_ , Jason thought to himself, _I can see where he’s coming from. The long greasy hair, lightning-like scars, worn clothes, and weirdly pale skin he sort of looks like a washed-out sepia Sadako who hadn’t bathed in a week._

“Oh,” Malik looked down and whispered, “I have to apologize don’t I, Father Todd?”

He peeked up at Jason. His cheeks flushed red. His lip shrunk in as he chewed on it. His thin frame almost made Jason sympathize with him. The phantom ringing in Jason’s ears drowned out that emotion. Jason squeezed his hands together. There was never too young an age to learn the consequences of one’s actions. Sighing, Jason thought, but he’s still a little kid.

Jason reached over and patted Malik’s head. Jason nodded. 

“Robin isn’t feeling well so –“

Malik lit up. 

Jason quickly crushed his hopes. “You can wait until later to apologize.”

“Oh,” he sighed, stared at his shoes.

He created a small pile of dust with his foot. His toes formed small circles on the ground. His head lowered relayed how disappointed he felt. Jason rubbed the bridge of his nose and blinked. 

Drawing on his inner Jerome, Jason began, “Malik, remember Matthew 5:23-24: ‘So, what if you are offering your gift at the altar and remember that someone has something against you? Leave your gift there and go make peace with that person. Then come and offer your gift.’.”

Malik glanced up at Jason. Malik’s face pinched in confusion. 

“If you show sincerity,” Jason interpreted, “then Robin will understand.”

“Oh-kay,” Malik commented at last.

“Yes, but that can wait until tomorrow. Malik go find your mom,” Jason ordered.

“You’re not going to tell her, are you, Uncle Jay?,”

Jason furrowed his brow. Even elementary kids were clever, poking at people’s parental instincts. Jason shook his head. At least mothers were still amazing threats at this age. 

“Sorry, buddy. It’s better if you tell her yourself, but she has to know.” 

“I’ll tell her.” 

Malik’s shoulders drooped as if the weight of the world hung from them. Malik trudged off. He paused and waved at Jason. He spun and continued marching. 

Waiting until Malik disappeared from the yard, Jason shifted until he faced the window. Robin’s eyes moved from the horizon to observe him. They flicked across Jason’s face. Jason repaid the favor. The shirt hung off his shoulder and exposing the strange markings on his neck. The scars seemed to converge on his left side. Diverging his gaze, Jason sighed. Running his fingers through his hair, Jason pointed at the window lock. 

He mouthed slowly, _Open_.

Robin complied. Jason walked closer until there was only a few inches between him and the window screen. Robin stepped back. His gaze fixed securely on Jason. 

“Sorry, about that Robin. That kid was scared. Looked like he thought my room was empty and it freaked him out when you moved. Did he wake you up? How are you feeling?”

Robin nodded and spoke softly, “I am fine. . . Thank you for the medicine.”

His voice crinkled, hoarse from disuse. Jason’s throat hurt from the sound. Robin seemed not to notice. He scanned Jason from head to toe. 

He continued, “You really are a priest.”

“Of course, I said I was.”

“You act different with them,” Robin commented. His head tilted to one side as he stared at Jason. He continued, “more professional and . . .”

His scratchy voice trailed off.

“Not like a street punk,” Jason remarked, “If you’re well-enough to judge me, I guess you’re feeling better. Here, save me a trip. Put this in the fridge.”

Robin stared at him. His blue eyes clouded with an emotion that Jason couldn’t read. Robin slowly nodded. He reached through the screenless window to pick up the bag of food. After a wave of his hand, Jason turned on his heels. Fiddling with his cross, he questioned how he arrived at this point where he had essentially adopted a zombie assassin as a ~~pet~~ ward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [2] Good morning, how are you?
> 
> [3] Mijo is a contraction of 'mi hijo' which translates into 'my son'. Mijo is used as a term of endearment for adults with younger individuals even if there is no blood relation. It can alternatively be written as m'ijo
> 
>  **Author Notes**  
>  I hope Jason and Rosa's coded conversation wasn't too hard to follow.


	4. Confusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's an extra chapter since today is my birthday. A gift of sorts to celebrate.

Robin stretched the collar of his shirt away from his body. He peered at his chest. Tracing the scars covering the upper half of his chest with his eyes, he recalled the boy’s wide-eyed expression from earlier. The scars that branched towards his neck and edged his jaw, originating roughly from the area of his chest. They were most prominent ones he had but several marred his arms, legs, and torso. A few burn marks streaked his forearms. Every piece of his flesh was puckered and worn. Following the outline of the bandage wrapping his chest, he briefly wondered what injury was hidden behind the gauze. What scar marked him, branding an experience to his skin. 

Robin wondered, _What did I forget?_

His brain conjured a red fluid accompanied by pitched, discordant screams. Robin's ears itched from the phantom memory. The liquid coated his clothes. A cloying metallic scent stained his sinuses. His nose smarted from the ghost of it. A haunting sensation in his palms was followed by simultaneous echoes of sobbing, begging, shouting. . . 

Creak, Robin tensed at the door's groan. Leaning forward, Robin pressed his feet flat on the wooden panels of Jason's room. He carefully stood up and edged toward the center of the room, shifting his weight onto the balls of his feet. He bent his knees and brought his arms up protectively. He glanced at the window, a potential exit. He focused his eyes on the bedroom door and reached out with his ears.

 _Creaking._ The door closed. Robin assumed. From the clicking noises, someone headed east into the kitchen. The pop and increased rumble suggested that the person opened the fridge. The sounds of drawers were then followed by a sharp yowl, "Shit no! That was my last -"

Jason, Robin recognized. The tension slipped from his veins. He dropped his arms. His shoulders jerked up in surprise. He questioned his previous reflex. _Why did I relax?_

Ignoring it, Robin walked out of the room and into the narrow space that connected the bedroom to the kitchenette. He paused at the boundary, hiding himself in the shadows. Scanning the area, he saw Jason's broad figure at the sink. The man's hands were pressed against the edge with his weight shifted forward. Robin focused his ears and picked up soft muttering mixed with cursing. Suddenly, Jason pushed off the counter and spun around.

"Shit!"

His eyes widened in shock. Jason pressed his fingers against his chest, atop a scratched cross. His other arm reached behind him, groping the counter for what Robin assumed was a weapon. Robin picked up his pattering heartbeat. Jason dropped his hand and exhaled. Straightening up, Jason eyed Robin with extra focus on his hands. 

"Fuck, you nearly gave me a heart attack. Don't creep up on people."

Robin read the tightness of Jason's clenched jaw. The taut skin attenuating his sharp features. His arms loosely crossed over his ribs. Robin tilted his head up, lining his eyes with Jason's. He stared unwaveringly back. Robin felt that Jason was searching for something in his eyes. The air buzzed, thick with an unnamed tension. The muggy silence continued. Neither man moved beyond the small rise and fall of their chests. 

Robin realized, _He's afraid of me._

Jason blinked, breaking their point of contact. Re-establishing eye contact, he stepped towards Robin. His hands were up, palms flat in surrender. He quipped, defusing the situation, "Okay, Casper, you got me. Did I wake you?"

Robin exhaled and slid of the shadows. He opted to ignore Jason's still stiff shoulders. Robin shook his head. Robin corrected, "No, I was awake."

 _Since the child woke me up, the noise from the front kept me up_ , Robin thought.

Jason glanced at him. His head angled to the left and his eyebrows knitted together. Robin crossed his arms over his chest. 

Robin questioned, "What?"

"Nothing. You look better. How do you feel?"

Robin blinked, mentally assessing his condition. Two particular sensations occupied his mind: the contractions of his stomach and the dryness of his throat. Robin struggled to name the emotion these composed, but it was not pain. As if predicting his deliberation, his stomach released a series of gurgling growls.

"Ha," Jason chuckled, cupping a hand over his mouth. He continued, "Hungry. Got it. But before I feed you, does anything hurt?"

Robin knitted his brow together. The sensation of hunger not familiar to him. Robin blinked. That did not make sense.

Answering Jason, Robin turned his head left to right, slowly. 

Jason closed the distance between them. He pressed his warm fingers against Robin's forehead and Jason’s right hand was on his. His fingers twitched from the contact. His hand lingered in the air before dropping to his side. Jason stepped back. With a unique expression, Jason scanned Robin from head to toe. 

"Well, guess it's safe for you to shower? Then, we'll replace your bandages and eat."

Jason pushed past Robin to enter his room. Pausing at the threshold, he gestured at Robin with two curled fingers. He followed Jason into the room. Robin watched Jason dig through his closet, favoring the left side. He turned around with a large red duffel. A white cross emblazoned along the side. Jason jerked his head in the direction of his bed. Stepping away from the closet, he knocked it close with his heel.

"Take off your shirt."

"Why?” Robin asked, sitting at the edge of the bed.

"Nothing much," Jason replied, tugging on the strap, "Need to cover your cut, unless you want a nasty infection."

Robin nodded. Tucking his thumbs under the edge of his shirt, he quickly pulled it off. Jason placed the red duffel by Robin's feet and knelt in front of Robin. Jason quickly dug through the bag and gloved his hands. He rose. His face paralleled with Robin's. 

Jason directed, "Arms relaxed, alright?"

His fingers were warm through the latex. Jason worked, quickly to unwrap the dressing. The bandage revealed a set of purpled ribs. A finger’s width mark extended over his lower ribs. Scratches surrounded the rough area. Nothing serious enough to warrant the numerous bloodied bandages.

Robin commented, "You seem used to this."

"This isn't my first time. Strange men in masks make a habit of ending up in trouble and near me. I’m starting to think I'm going to stitch up the Dark Knight one of these days."

Jason shifted at the end of his sentence. With the last of the bandages in his hands, he froze. Robin glance down. He took a closer look at his puckered flesh stretched across his ribs, red only at the center. 

Cocking his eyebrow, Robin asked, "What is wrong?"

Jason moved his hand until it overlapped with the edge of Robin's injury. His fingers traced its upward path, slowing test the integrity of Robin’s ribs, and stilled near his heart. Jason's eyes darted up, scanning Robin's face. 

He muttered, " _Tal_ \- You must be a super."

"Super?"

"You know the supers like Wonder Woman. I guess the correct term is metahuman.”

He dug through his duffel. As Jason shifted to apply a plastic cover to the wound, his fingers stilled for a moment. He inhaled. He pressed his fingers along over the edge of the plastic. Jason’s touch felt hot, almost feverish. 

Jason stated, "You'll probably be good by 'morrow from the look of it."

Jason pushed himself off the floor. He wandered to the closet and handed a towel to Robin. Pointing with his left hand, Jason commented, "Shower quickly. Then, I'll redress your injury. You might heal but you might get infections still."

Steam fogged the glass surrounding Robin. The narrow space was difficult to maneuver in. He carefully applied soap to his body, avoiding his injury. The spray of water was scalding, reddening Robin's faded sepia-toned skin. To Robin, it was not uncomfortable. Vestigial memories of cold swirled in his mind: a steel box, blood spilling from his body, the darkness. _The darkness._

Robin's chest tightened. Closing his eyes, he focused instead on the intense heat until the memory of cold washed away. Opening his eyes, he quickly shampooed his hair. Rust-colored flakes mixed in with the rivets of water and spots of soap running down the drain, turning it a pinkish red. Robin stood under the spray until the water ran clear.

Stepping out onto the cool tiles, Robin reached for the towel. He efficiently wiped himself down. Glancing at the crumpled up pair of pants on the white flooring, he paused. He wondered if he should wear them again. His shirt laid, still abandoned, on Jason's bed. It seemed that he deliberated for too long because Jason popped his head through the door.

"Hey, what's taking you so -". Jason trailed off as he scanned Robin's figure. 

Diverting his gaze, Jason apologized, "Um..., I'll get you some clothes."

A few moments later, Robin exited the bathroom in a pair of joggers that were too large around the waist and piled at the ankles. Jason leaned against the dresser. He had changed into a plain gray shirt and sweatpants. Jason gestured with a flick of his wrist at his bed. Robin turned sideways and edged past Jason to sit on the bed's edge.

Jason knelt in front of Robin and pulled an array of supplies from the first aid kit: two bottles of clear fluid, a bag of cotton balls, gauze, a set of pliers, and a roll of bandages. He carefully removed the clear covering from Robin's wound. Attaching the cotton to the pliers, Jason soaked it in one of the liquids. Water? He lightly ran it across the length of the injury. The second fluid smelled strongly of rubbing alcohol. It stung slightly as Jason dabbed it across his flesh. Jason then wrapped a thin layer of gauze around Robin's chest followed by a layer of bandages to secure it. He placed the items back into the duffel.

Jason stood up, brushing off his knees. He commented, "You're the best patient I've had."

"How many have you had?"

Jason shrugged. "Usually kids who skinned their knees, homeless after a territory fight. Small cuts or people too poor to afford a hospital for anything less than life-threatening. Well, except that Star City punk."

"You are a strange priest," Robin commented.

"This strange priest is the one feeding you," Jason stated, raising an eyebrow, "not the best idea to diss him. Here, catch."

A balled up, white shirt landed on Robin's lap. Jason plopped the duffel into the closet and turned to leave the room. He hesitated and closed the closet fully. Two steps later, he reached the bedroom door. He glanced back. 

Jason stated, "Put that on. The food's ready."

The shirt hung loosely on Robin's shoulders and extended far past his waist. Robin walked into the combined kitchen and dining space. A small square table held two bowls of soup from that morning and a plate of cabbage mixed with other vegetables. The surface of the table barely fit an additional two glasses of water. Robin's feet ghosted Jason's under the table.

"Robin," Jason began, "Tomorrow, Malik, the kid from this morning, wants to meet you, okay?"

Before he could respond, Jason continued, "Of course, his mother and I will be there to mediate."

The corner of Jason's mouth twitched on the second half of sentence. His arms folded over his waist. His shoulders bent in. His head lowered. Robin read the uncertainty in Jason’s closed posture. 

Robin questioned himself, _Why is Jason feeding someone he does not trust? What is he keeping from me? He knows me._

Robin closed his eyes, rubbing his throbbing temples. _Who am I? How does Jason know me?_

_Please no... not my children..._

_It can't be you're not real!_

_Stop! I'll pay you, how much do you -_

_I didn’t believe it when they said-_

_Who are you??!_

_No, I beg you...._

Robin's mind filled with screams. His ears itched from the disjointed memories. It felt like a blade was driven straight into Robin's brain and twisted. Robin pressed his fingers to his temple. _Who am I?_

"Robin, you alright?" Jason asked, drawing Robin out of his thoughts.

"Why are you nice to me? Why are letting me stay here?" Robin hissed, clamping his hands over his ears, "You know me."

"I don't -"

"Don't lie. You flinch when I move. You have to know me. Why else offer a bed to someone you do not trust. Jason, who am I?" Robin half-whimpered, half-shouted. 

His head overtaken by the voices, shrieking in his mind. The palms pressed on his head pointless. The noise swarmed his mind. 

"Calm down.” Jason reached toward Robin who leaned away from his touch. 

Dropping his hand, Jason corrected, “I don't know you. Wait." 

Jason gestured ambiguous before continuing. "I've my suspicions about you. I've heard of you. I think."

Robin lowered his arms. He focused his attention on Jason. His ears continued ringing from the phantom voices. Robin drew in careful breaths. 

Eying Robin, Jason sighed. Crossing his arms over chest, Jason stilled. He averted his gaze from Robin. He drew a deep, lingering breath. Jason straightened up, staring Robin dead in the eyes.

"You wanted to know why I let you in my house right?" Jason refocused.

Jason's left hand formed a fist on the table and his right touched his cross briefly. He continued, "I'm paying it forward."

"I was a punk who stole tires for a living. No one ever looked at me twice," Jason inhaled, slowly, "until someone did.”

“I didn’t trust him either and he kept coming ‘round trying to help me,” Jason stated. 

His voice strained. His fingers tightened around the cross. His other hand twitched.

“I didn’t want it. Then, one day, I messed with someone I shouldn’t’'ve messed with - got beat halfway to hell and left in the trash to die. Would've died like that too except for a noisy priest.” Jason swallowed. 

A puff of bated breath left his lungs. Jason smirked halfway. It looked insincere. 

He interrupted himself, “Seeing you reminded me of then.” 

“He dragged me to his - offered me a bed and home. I was a stupid punk who wanted to leave, but he offered me a deal. One month. At the end of it, I was free to leave.” 

“Even after I healed.” Jason clenched his teeth. “He offered it to me again and again and again."

Robin asked, “Who is he?”

“He **was** Jerome Corvidae.”

"Who am I?" Robin pushed, pressing his fingers firmly against the side of his pounding head.

"From the way, you're holding your head," Jason crossed his arms and redirected, "do you want to know? The rumors I heard... Do you really want to know?"

Robin blinked. His head felt like it had been put in the meat blender. The flashes of memory he had were not pleasant, except for that dream. Robin frowned. 

"I don't know."

"Alright," Jason nodded, reaching for his cross. He stated, "I'll offer you the deal he offered me. I'll keep an eye on you, while you sort yourself out. End of the month and you still want to know, I'll tell you. Deal?"

Jason offered his hand. Robin stared at it. Massaging his temple, he weighed the possibilities. Robin dropped his hand. Robin repaid the firm shake. Robin nodded.

"Good," Jason agreed, standing up. He gathered his empty bowl and placed it in the sink. He ordered, "Head to bed as soon as you finish eating, I'm going to shower."

The bed, Robin's eyebrows creased as he recalled only one bed in the entire house. Thinking aloud, Robin asked, "Where will you sleep?"

"I'll take the couch," Jason laughed, "unless you want me to squeeze in with you."

"You were a street rat," Robin mused, "That explains your rudeness."

"You mean smooth," Jason corrected, "if not, you can take the couch."


	5. Scattering

Jason turned over, folding his pillow over his ears. The sound bled through the cotton and dug into his ears, twisting and tearing at his eardrums. Jason pressed the pillow firmly onto his head, curling into the motion, but his ears were beaten down by the irregular shouts. Groaning, Jason rolled onto his opposite side. The frame of the beat-up couch bit into his side creating a particular brand of cruelty that joined the screeches in egging him awake. He groped his scratched up coffee table for his cell phone. His eyes cracked open, forming groggy slits. The bright, blinding screen displayed the numbers in painfully lit up white: 3:30 A.M.

"Who in the world is awake at this time?" 

Jason pushed into a sitting position. Placing his phone on his lap, he clasped both hands on his face. He moved them in small circles to massage away his weariness. 

_I have be awake at 6. It better not be Mendez kids again or else I’ll..._

Glancing around his living room, he allowed his eyes the much needed time to adjust to the darkness. He surveyed the area, using his ears to determine the direction of the pained sounds. It came from his right, the direction of his room. Pushing himself off the worn couch, Jason softly edged to his room. As he stepped into the narrow hallway, Jason was transported into the past:

_His jaw ached as he gritted teeth. The faint coppery wetness coated his tongue. Jason's throat felt raw from swallowing his screams. As if to support him, his fingers wrapped tightly around his bedclothes. His ribs were a cage constraining his lungs. Each breath was interrupted by another clawing groan. A set of hands lifted him and placed Jason on their lap. A large, warm hand stroked his hair. The even beats of their heart calming his pain._

Jason stopped in front of his bedroom door. 

_Is this how he felt?_

Shaking his head, Jason untangled from his past. Taking a deep, grounding breath, he grasped the doorknob and turned it. The unearthly shrieks from Jason's bed suddenly stopped. Robin squirming form stilled and he jolted. Halfway to his feet, Robin locked eyes with Jason. Robin’s face contorted in the dark. An arm raised in front of his torso. 

Jason flicked on the lights. Wincing slightly at the sudden light, Jason squinted. He leaned on the doorway and crossed his arms.

Jason whispered, "I heard you from the living room."

Robin opened his mouth. A hoarse and scratchy "sorry" slipped out. Jason continued, "Do you want water, tea, or an aspirin?"

"Water and aspirin." Robin rubbed his temple, absentmindedly. 

Jason nodded, stepping from the door. Entering the kitchenette, Jason flicked on the lights. He paused in front of his cabinet. Pulling out a glass, Jason set it on the counter. He turned and opened his fridge. Scanning its contents, Jason grabbed two limes. He dug in the drawers for a citrus juicer. He filled the glass two-thirds the way. In two minutes, Jason juiced the limes and poured that into the water. Moments later, Jason handed a glass of water to calloused hands followed by a small white pill. 

“I put lime in the water to help with your throat.” 

Robin nodded as he drank from the glass. Jason watched the sweat glisten on Robin's face. Jason observed Robin’s weary face and a wave of familiarity washed over Jason. His mind pulled up his expression at a much younger age but it was just as threadbare as Robin's. Jason swallowed. Listless brown orbs boring into him haunted a corner of his brain. 

Jason asked, "Do want to talk 'bout it?"

Robin's free hand want straight to the side of his head as if to hold it together. He turned his head and scanned Jason's face. His brow furrowed as if in deep concentration. A suspicious glint smoldered in his eyes. 

Observing Robin, Jason was flooded with a peculiar and surreal sense of recognition. Jason tilted his head and thought, _I've seen this before._

Jason surveyed Robin as he flipped through his mental catalog. His eyes lingering on the crease between Robin's eyes, clouded sky eyes, and the curled lip. His body pulled in on itself defensively like an injured feral cat backed into a corner. Jason blinked and bit his lip. He sharply inhaled. Staring at Robin, Jason saw in the shadows a young hunched up boy.

Jason peered into a reflection of his past, only now he was on the other side in _**his**_ shoes now. His throat constricted as he faintly recalled the deep, mellow tones that had comforted him. 

Jason echoed, "You don't have to tell me. Just know I'm in the next room if you need me."

Robin nodded. His shoulders loosened up. Hesitating, Jason backed up slowly. He stopped at the door, uncertain. His hand hovered above the light switch. Robin stared at Jason. Robin’s posture closed, unwelcoming. Jason turned off the lights. He saluted Robin and pulled the door shut.

As it swung toward the frame, Robin whispered, "Goodnight."

Jason leaned on the closed door. One hand ran through his hair, snagging a few loose strands on the way out. The other lingered on the doorknob. He closed his eyes. The night seeped in through the walls: the yowling of alley cats and the irregular zoom of passing cars. The all too familiar siren of fire trucks punctuated the noise. His heartbeat thrummed in his ears, an allegrissimo. However, the room behind him was silent.

He stepped forward. Glancing at his phone, Jason swore, "Fuck, 3:50."

Jason scurried toward the living room, nearly knocking his shins into the coffee table on his way pass. He dropped his phone on the table. Flipping his blankets up, he plopped onto the couch. It creaked under him. Tightly shutting his eyes, he tugged the blankets up to his neck. He mentally moaned, _I gotta wake up in 2 hours._

His chest dropped up and down at an andante. Likewise, his ears picked up his even-paced heartbeat. His mind drifted in the opposite direction. A current dragged out mental noise from the odd corners of his brain: _What is a Talon afraid of?_ His mind drove down a Tim Burton-esque rabbit hole: monsters in the shadows; chains and whips; Joker-level craziness; cloak and daggers; a shady parliament governing from the darkness; smoke and fire. Jason ordered himself, _Stop thinking. Damn it, go to sleep._

The couch springs groaned as Jason turned onto his side. Stretching out his hand, he reached for his phone. Cracking open one eye, Jason pressed on his screen: _4:05_. He placed it back down and shut his eyes.

_One. Two. Three._ Jason counted to drown out the odd thoughts keeping him up. _Two hundred and ten, two hundred and eleven, two hundred and thirteen._

At three hundred, he checked his phone once more. The blue screen read 4:11. The air left his lungs in a short huff. He closed his eyelids and flipped back over. He added up, _Zero. One. One. Two. Three. Five. Eight._

_Six thousand, seven hundred and sixty-five,_ he summed up. Tossing his arm backward, he groped for his phone. The screen now read 4:25.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Under his breath, he swore, "Fucking shit. **Fuck.** "

The way his tongue shifted from the roof of his mouth down on the 'k' was bland. The tame and dry sensation aftertaste felt unsatisfying, almost hollow. Swallowing, he switched gears.

"¡Mierda! Ya valí madre."[4]

The Spanish rolled off his tongue smoothly with a kick that the commonly abused English swear word lacked. A small portion of his annoyance alleviated, Jason peeked at his phone again. It read 4:27. He blinked. He sighed, One a half hours, now. What's the difference? 

He closed his eyes, weighing out the pros and cons. _Is one a half hours more sleep worth it? If I sleep now, will I even wake the h- up?_

His drowsiness said yes, but his brain pointed at the endless counter-evidence. His eyes opened. A soft inching breath escaped his lungs. The number on his screen inched up two digits. He shifted onto his other side. Staring at the nicks on the table across from him, he groggily pushed himself off the couch.

_Need coffee or a smoke._

Giggling children, a cloudless sky, and stacks of items flitted through his mind. Ignoring his nicotine urge, he murmured, "Strong coffee."

His feet begrudgingly trudged into the kitchenette. He turned on the lights. Softly edging around the counter, he dug through his cabinet. Mechanically, Jason added lightly roasted grounds into his machine, then water.

"Here," a worn voice whispered.

_Shit fucking fuck shit,_ Jason internally hissed. His hands reflexively tightening into a fist on the counter. Inhaling, he suppressed a flinch. Turning a quarter, Jason inquired, "Can't sleep?"

Robin shook his head. The light from the kitchen barely grazed his face. The dimness made the pale of his skin become unearthly like a walking corpse. 

Jason shifted, leaning into the counter. He offered, "Want to tell me why?"

Silence filled the room. The only noise in the room was the bubbling machine behind him. Jason blinked. The awkwardness encouraged his eyes to dart from Robin's expressionless face to the dining table to the ground and back. After several rotations, Robin stepped forward breaking Jason's pattern. Jason blinked several times in succession.

Breaking the silence, Jason commented, "You don't have to -"

"I do not want to close my eyes."

Jason’s ears buzzed. Rubbing them, Jason swallowed.

"That bad, huh?" Jason remarked, "Well, you're welcome to stay up with me, but there's not much to do here."

Jason gestured to the dining table in front of him. Taking four steps, Robin nimbly sat down in one of the worn and lopsided chairs. The silence of his steps were simultaneously graceful and unnerving. 

_Beep, beep._

Glancing behind him, the coffee machine button shone red. 

Looking back up, Jason asked, "Want some coffee?"

Robin's nose wrinkled as he shook his head. Jason pointed at a set of boxes on the counter. 

"Haven't cooked yet, but there's cereal there and I think I still have milk in the fridge."

He turned. Pouring dark liquid into a mug, Jason carefully blew on it. As soon as it touched his tongue, the acidity of it smarted his tongue. Rubbing his wrist against his lips, he placed the mug down and reached for sugar and creamer he kept in the cabinet above the coffee machine. He dolloped in a healthy spoonful of each. The sweetness disguised the bitterness of the burnt coffee.

Joining Robin at the table, Jason's eyes widened. In front of Robin was a gallon of milk and an open box of rice crisps, both of which were in a bowl. Jason blinked and thought, _What demon do you have to sell your soul to be quietly pour a bowl of cereal?_

As Robin placed spoonfuls of crinkling cereal into his mouth, Jason noticed several odd strands of hair narrowly missing a milk bath. Jason leaned forward, stretching his fingers to catch a lock of Robin's black hair. A hiss escaped his lips. Jason curled into his arm. A jolting pain extended from Jason's wrist. Blinking, it took Jason several minutes to process Robin's vise-like grip around his wrist.

"Sorry," Jason hissed, "should've said something."

The pain vanished. Robin eyed Jason. Rubbing his wrist, Jason nervously chuckled, "Remind me never to jump you in a dark alley."

The uneasy bird closed his eyes and opened them. Readying its flight feathers, he kept his gaze on Jason. Again, he felt as if walked through a mirror. 

_Good to know, streets or Illuminati, Gotham fuck you up all the same._

Jason bit the inside of his cheek.

_How did Jer help him?_

"Isn't that annoying?" Jason gestured at the messy mane that covered Robin's head. "Getting in your eyes and all. I'd cut it for you if you want."

Robin shifted in his seat, leaning away from Jason. Robin’s fingers ghosted chest. He shook his head and growled, "No shears."

"Alright."

Jason took another sip of his coffee, peeking at Robin over the rim of the cup. Internally, he winced as Robin's fringe dipped into his spoon ever so slightly. The long strands, although the wrong color, vaguely reminded Jason of a certain Star City punk who treated his couch as a free motel. He placed his cup on the table. Jason smirked.

"No scissors, but we're getting all of that outta your face now, okay?"

Robin barely agreed before Jason marched to his room. Digging through his drawer of odd-items, Jason unearthed the small plastic box shoved into the corner. Since he never had a need for thin pieces of metal, it laid under several layers of clothes and odd items. A few moments later, Jason entered his kitchen and dining area armed with a comb, an elastic band, and box of bobby pins. Robin shifted away from Jason, his eyes darting around like a skittish cat.

Holding his hands up, Jason laid it on thick, "Please, please let me clean the hair away from your face. It won't hurt, just let me to it before it drives me mad."

"Only if I get more cereal," Robin stated.

"Eat all the cereal you want. That reminds me I need to buy groceries tomorrow and a fire extinguisher."

“Why?”

“Don’t y- Right memory lost. A serial arsonist decided again to settle in downtown. You know, Gotham and crazies.” 

Jason arranged his supplies on the table.

“Since I’m getting food anyway, is there anything you’d like eat? I ain’t a half bad cook if I say so myself.”

Jason first combed through Robin's hair with his fingers. The locks were soft as a kitten's fur and curled in loose strands. The texture was smooth in a way that contrasted with the scent of the cheap shampoo that Jason owned. 

“No, it does not matter.”

Jason hummed, “If you think of anything, let me know.”

Reaching for the comb, he brushed all of Robin's hand into his hand. When tied up, there was a curled tail of roughly four inches that landed at the nape of Robin's neck. Jason then twisted the ponytail into a bun and supported it with several pins. Stepping to the side, Jason pinned Robin's fringe away from his face with a set of crossed bobby pins.

Shifting back, Jason admired his handiwork. Observing the overall composition of Robin's face, he was struck by the brilliance of Robin's now visible eyes. They were blue like the spring sky on a cloudless day. A blue that was rare in a city such as Gotham. There would be a youthful attractiveness to the roundness of his face if it were not for the lack of an expression and eerily pale tone. Regardless, even in a shirt two sizes too large, anyone could tell that Robin had well-toned figure, an acrobatic or a dancer's muscle structure.

"We really need to get you some clothes that aren't mine," Jason said, absentmindedly. _Something that actually fits._

* * *

It probably wasn't the most morally correct thing to sift through donations intended for sale, especially since he was a priest, but Jason didn't own enough clothes to keep two grown adults dressed. He tossed a pair of ripped jeans a little too big, a faded basic tee, and a jacket worn down at the sleeves Robin's way. Balling up the tags, he turned to see Robin already dressed.

Robin would've looked like anyone off the streets if there wasn't something slightly off-kilo about the lack of light in his eyes, the hollowness of his cheeks, the firmness lip of his mouth, and the faded scars along his jaw and neck. The aura around Robin was charged in the same way the air in a field is just before lightning strikes.

Running his fingers through his hair, Jason stated, "Try not to scare Malik too much. He's still a brat."

_Thud. Thump. Thud._ There was a series of knocks at the door of the church. Jason glanced at Robin, carefully backing up to the door. Emily and Malik were locked at the elbows as if she had physically dragged along the boy along.

"Hello." 

She pushed her son in front of her. He stared intently at his shoes. Gestured at the church's interior, Jason stepped back. His eyes darting between the pair and Robin. 

Jason smiled, "I promise he won't bite."

_Can't promise anything 'bout murder though_ , Jason joked, wryly to himself.

Emily escorted her Malik pass Jason, following closely behind as if to block any potential escape attempts. Malik slunk down like a turtle in its shell. Jason closed the rear, eying Robin. He stood perfectly still, only his irregular breath betrayed that he was made of flesh not stone. Halfway to Robin when the door behind him creaked open. Glancing back, he saw peering in Abuela Rosa.

Biting down on his lip, his gaze darted between Robin and Malik several times filling his chest with a sort of heaviness that made it difficult to breath. His muscles tensing up. He slowly backed from the group to do his duties. It took every quark of control he had in his body not to join the trio.

Pasting a smile on his face, Jason greeted, "Good morning, Abuela Rosa"

“Why is he sweet on you?” Emily questioned, walking up behind him. 

Jason repositioned himself to face the two.

From behind him, Jason heard Abuela Rosa's soft, melodic Spanish tones, "I am over three times his age. He is too scared to refuse me."

She patted his side, smiling.

"Abuela," Jason protested, returning to the conversation, "You mean I respect you too much."

"Tch, tch. Mijo, I am not too old not to see a lie," she chastised lightly.

Emily directed with her head. “Sorry about Malik. I thought I taught him better than that. I thought I’d let them settle it amongst themselves.”

Robin leaned on a pew, reducing the height difference between the two. Malik had his hands in his pockets. Rocketing his feet, the kid looked like a ball of nerves. Robin pulled a coin out of his pocket. Rolling it between his fingers, he made it disappear. A class magic trick that put a smile on both their faces. For a moment, Jason saw the kind of person Robin might’ve been — or was underneath all of Gotham’s fuckery.

Emily murmured, “Jase, if you told me you had a beau I would’ve have-” 

“We’re not dating,” Jason corrected. 

He reasoned, _It’d be irresponsible to anyway._

Abuela angled her head. “Is he your guest?”

Jason nodded. 

“Well, you have an eye for _friends_ , Emily accented the last word with teasing disbelief. “Roy and now…”

“Robin.”

Lowering her voice, she added, “If I were ten years younger-”

"We should head in and start setting up before Robin becomes this week's gossip," Jason sighed.

"Emily," Jason directed to the opposite side of the church. "Let's move the tables out."

Trailing after Emily, he watched Robin's now lone figure from the corner of his eye. He stood off to the side of the church, half buried in the shadows. Malik passed him, dragging the plastic tarp to the church door. As more people filtered into the church, Jason lost track of Robin.

The front yard of the church was filled with knick-knacks and second-hand clothing. A handful of mothers, aunts, and the elderly crowded the narrow stalls. The crowd was no more than two dozen people. Maybe his past made him suspicious, but Jason scanned the crowd for people looking for a five finger discount. In the corner of his mind, a voice nagged, _Where's Robin? What if someone recognizes him?_

A small, irrational voice added in, _What if he kills someone?_

Touching his cross, Jason shook the negative thoughts from his head. The sensation of ants running across his skin that invaded his every thought. His skin crawled with apprehension. The sudden urge for a smoke itched at the back of his throat. He quickly scanned the crowd. Robin surprisingly stood nearby, only a few paces to Jason's left. Robin hid along the staircase that led into the church. Jason almost missed Abuela Rosa next to him. 

Her eyebrow pulled together like a broad ‘v’ turned 180 degrees. Her mouth formed a small 'o'. She appeared shocked, surprised or scared. Jason's feet moved independently of his mind as he edged closer and closer. His ears picked up her earthy voice, "Jason used to..."

Jason blinked. His mind whirled a thousand thoughts a minute. Shifting gears, his sense of self-preservation kicked in. He marched over.

"Excuse me, if it is too hot for you, Abuelita, I'll buy you lemonade." 

"Mijo, you don't have to."

"It is my pleasure," Jason pushed, holding out his arm. Her creased fingers latched onto his elbow. Leading her away, the concerned words slipped out of his mouth, "Abuela, what did you talk to Robin about?"

Her voice danced as she chuckled, "Worried, mijo? I just wanted to learn about your friend."

Jason bit the corner of his lip and swallowed. 

"Discover anything interesting?"

She simply laughed, her voice warm and bright. Jason reached the lemonade stand and exchanged two dollars for a cup. Turning to hand the drink to Abuela Rosa, he traced her line of sight. It led to Robin still standing where they had left him. Abuela had her mouth fixed in a firm line. The lines edging her eyes deepened in concentration.

"Is something wrong?" he inquired, handing over the beverage.

"No, no. I think you were right. He doesn’t seem to have pressing trauma," she whispered, tucking in her chin as she took a sip, "It is just...," she paused her gaze shifting to the sky as she searched for words, "Robin, he looks familiar. He looks like a ghost."

"Dead person," she corrected herself.

His heart thudded heavily, thunder in his ears. Jason inhaled slowly and touched his cross. _Had she seen something when she talked to Robin? Quick, make an excuse._

“Have you found a photographer?”

_Great, Jason, real clever._

Clearing her throat, she pointedly patted her pockets.

Jason groped his pockets. A piece of what felt like newspaper sat in his previously empty robe. Jason wondered vaguely when she had acquired this skill and when his had gotten so rusty.

She continued, "I have seen his picture.”

Jason stretched. Subtly unrolling the paper in his pocket, he read in his periphery: -day, 12 AM - L. Thompson Clinic. He relaxed. Gravity dragged the note into the depths of his pocket.

“Oh! Like one of the ones from that circus family that died -" her voice jumped, "The Graysons! The Flying Graysons. He looks like the youngest one. But that can't be. That one died four years after his parents."

She cocked her brow, curiously. Her voice slowly faded away, but the drumming of Jason's heart continued. He'd heard of the Flying Graysons before. They were part of the circus that used to come to town before the crazy clowns and super-powered baddies made Gotham too dangerous a stop. When he was young and not yet a street rat, he faintly recalled the red and white big top.

_It was one of his mother's good days. When she lucid enough to remember she was in charge of a five-year old, she let him stumble after her as she bought the tickets. The lights were dazzling and the scent of popcorn, sweat, hay, and sugar filled the air. He was tiny and could barely see the stage so he didn't understand why all the grown-ups around him were screaming and shouting. The noise stung his ears._

It was much later that Jason learned that he was there the night that the Grayson family had died. The only survivor was a boy not much older than Jason with a funny name. He discovered that the boy had died a few years after his parents had. _What was that boy's name?_

“Jason?”

Shaking his head, Jason smiled. 

“Will you be coming with us?” 


	6. Contradiction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Depictions of anxiety attacks.

_His feet moved forward through rain, shine, snow, and sleet. His hands intimately knew the blade: the sensation of slicing through flesh, severing the carotid, sliding into the heart. Begging voices, primal howls, pleading sobs melded together with defeated whimpering until all sounds became a single voluminous cry for life that entered ears that he no longer heard with. The scent of sweat, urine, and copper imprinted on his sinuses, bleeding into and dulling his tongue. His vocal chords were a prop that only knew one-word confirmations: yes, understood, affirmative. He was their weaponized marionette. If death was the end of all independent processes, he had died long ago._

_He saw nothing. Light simply entered his eyes, dying the world two colors. The first shade is an inescapable companion. It lives behind closed eyes, absorbing all rays, both natural and artificial, into its ineludible grasp. The second hue is a double-edged comrade. It flows from the vein of life, shifting from vibrant to dull as it gorges itself on oxygen and has the element stolen from it. The former is the night in which his body moves, in the shadows in which he creeps, in the corners from which he pounces. In the hearts of whom, he draws the latter – the crimson warmth that separates the living from the dead. It exists when he is called upon, a puppet directed by them, a weapon in their arsenal, a tool to achieve their goals. The red comes when the white masks order, "Kill,_ [----]"

[----]?, _he questioned, drawing in a shaky breath._

 _Are you disobeying an order,_ [----]?

_An overwhelming buzzing invaded his mind as the word escaped his comprehension akin to a horde of wasps swarming a target. As he focused on the word, a sharp pain struck the center of his brain. His temples pulsed with venom from the endless attack. His eyes watered at the concentration it took to zone in on the absence of a word._

"[----]," _one of the masked repeated, "are disobeying an order?"_

_He clasped both hands to the sides of his head, pressing down so firmly his bones ached. That pain paled in comparison to the buzzing in his brain. Cupping his palms over his ears did nothing to ease the noise. It intensified, stinging his mind._

"[----], _several of his masked leaders chorused._

"[----]"

"[----]"

"[----]"

_With each utterance of the word he could not hear, the horde grew more frenzied, stabbing every synapse in his brain. Plunging themselves into wildly every fleshy bit of his body, the pain intensified. Clamping his hands over his ears, he shook from the strength he put into drowning out buzzing._

_The voices of the masked individuals gradually faded. Their figures transformed into the blurry image of a man and woman dressed in blue who towered above him. He reached not even their shoulders. The woman stretched out her hand. It was soft as it cupped his head. A bright sweet warmth spread from her fingertips throughout his small body. The buzz subsided._

_Although he could not make her face, he observed the downward turn of her lips. His heart tightened at the sight of her sadness. Her fingers tousled his hair and she knelt down in front of him, matching his diminutive stature. In a nostalgic voice, she whispered, "What's wrong,_ [----]?"

The wrong name. 

_The noise returned with vengeance accompanied by a bittersweet and hollow sensation in his chest. A thousand of wasps swarmed in his brain, attempting to escape their bone cage. They stung and probed his nerves, sending pain into every corner of his body. The bone-shattering internal agony forced him to wrap his arms around his knees. He physically held himself together, curling into himself._

_Jolting awake, Robin stared at the light that filtered through the blinds. A skull-splitting ache consumed his mind, erasing all fragments of the dream except the outline of a stark white mask with hollow eyes. His joints twinged with pain. The fetal position he previously locked his body in lingered his stiff movements. His brain felt as if a mob of giants had played an unforgiving game of rugby with his head as their ball._

_Massaging his temples, Robin took deliberate and even breathes. His chest was tight from the vestigial feelings. His rib cage shakily expanded, reeling still from the emotional feedback. The slow flow of air into his lungs gradually allowed the stiff and paralyzing sensation to fade from his limbs._

_Glancing down,thin rust-colored flakes encrusted his forearm. It formed a circle made up from small indents. Running his tongue along his teeth, the cloying coppery taste of blood confirmed his suspicion. His throat closed. From the way the sleeves of his shirt clung to his bicep, Robin was soaked in sweat._

_I do not want to sleep._

Whatever he had dreamt of he did not want to again. Closing his eyes for more than a second left him breathless with the sensation of that moment shortly before falling backward where one is completely aware of one’s inertia, but unable to stop. It was an uncomfortable and unsettling feeling that froze his body in place, that constricted his chest, and that numbed his head with an unshakable, acute fear of both action and inaction.

Tapping out the beat with his fingers, he mimicked the method that Jason had used on him two days ago. He drew in a steady breath for three seconds, held it for it for six, and exhaled for nine.[7] Repeating the process several times, the technique gave him focus amidst mental static and noise. It softly massaged his anxiety into a tamable quantity. He went boneless as the tension dissipated.

Time returned his body. Having regained control of his limbs, Robin stood up. Shifting his weight to the tips of his feet, he stepped across the bedroom and out the door. The night was full of noise: the hum of street lights, the chatter of nocturnal beasts, the whirl of electricity, and the rustling of humans. All punctuated with the screech of sirens. Robin followed the rustling to the living room where Jason slept.

Sprawled out on a couch, Jason’s ankles hung off the edge. His knees angled strangely, knocking together. His midsection sank into the cushions as the springs failed their job. His chin touched his chest from the awkward angle formed by his head leaning on the armrest. His pillow lay under his shoulder sticking out perpendicular to the armrest.

Robin tiptoed closer. Robin frowned. _I should return his bed to him._

Considering the masked demons that hid in his unconscious, it won’t be put good use. The mere thought of them tightened his chest. Air flowed freely into his lungs, but Robin was still left breathless. Before his joints turned to stone, Robin sat on the worn-out coffee table in front of Jason.

 _Why did I wake up in pain? What had the previous Rob -_ , he corrected his thoughts, _that wasn't their name. I am Robin. They are someone else. What had they done that haunted my dreams? Do I want to know?_

Crossing his legs, Robin inhaled deeply. His fingers silently tapping out his pace: three, then six, and lastly nine. He exhaled. Two more cycles later, the awful, dense ball of nerve endings untangled. Robin kept the remaining fine threads pinned under his thumb. When the odd knowledge that he did not need much sleep entered his thoughts, Robin felt the threads squirm. 

Avoiding further introspection, Robin let his ears wander. They shifted toward the steady thumping of Jason's heart: ** _ba-bum, ba-bum, ba-bum._** The even repetitive noise was strangely comforting. **_Ba-bum. Ba-bum. Ba-bum._** The pulse that drove the life through Jason’s veins told Robin he was not alone. **_Ba-bum. Ba-bum. Ba-bum._** Robin's heartbeat, in comparison, was an unwelcoming, labored march: da. It was flat, appearing at half the interval of Jason's. 

**_Ba-bum. Ba-bum. Da._**

**_Ba-bum. Ba-bum. Da._ **

_**Ba-bum. Ba-bum. Da. . .** _

The harmony of their hearts blended together, oddly pleasing to the ears. It confirmed not only that he was not alone, but also he existed tandem with another being. A tranquility arose from the reliable melody. It filled the spaces between Robin's anxiety, tapering it.

Robin observed Jason's face. Locks of black formed thin threads that adhered to his forehead. Soft, small puffs of air left his mouth. His mouth bent and shifted to shape words. Slumber blurred the sounds, trapping several vibrations in his throat. The premature partly formed words stumbled out. Robin made out: "Rob- w- . . . -bat."

Leaning forward, Robin focused on Jason's intonation. Jason's mouth only released mellow wisps of CO2. Robin sifted through the partial idea, pondering, _Robin, what?_

_Jason's deep blue eyes analyzed Robin from across several heads. Concern lined the furrow of his brow, the line of his lips, and crease of his eyes. His eyes darted over Robin's figure, dissecting him. Jason inhaled softly. From the way Jason inclined his head, it was in response to something Mrs. Andrade had said. His eyes returned to Robin, circling his face._

**Thud.** Jason's arm slung backward, colliding with the armrest. That abrupt noise drew Robin to the present. The springs creaked as Jason flipped onto his back, cradling his arm against his chest. His eyes briefly fluttered open before closing once more. His fidgeting caused his blanket to spill to the floor, exposing him to the night air.

Robin stepped forward. He pulled on the material, lining it up with Jason's sleeping form. Lingering on Jason's chest, Robin's fingers felt the pulses that accompanied Jason's heart. Twisting, Jason tugged the blanket up to his chin, pinning Robin's arm to him in the process. Jason's eyes squeezed tighter, perhaps from the temperature difference between their bodies. Jason radiated heat. The slightly overbearing warmth complimented the active and reliable pace of his heart.

* * *

The surface shifted beneath Robin's body. He jerked onto his feet. Opening his eyes, he was met with a wide-mouthed Jason. His hair tousled. He transitioned into an upright posture. The shape of lips turned upward in a bemused smile. His arm slung laissez-faire over his bent knee. His eyebrow cocked questioningly.

Robin pressed three fingers to his temple. He closed and opened his eyes. A bolt of surprise flew through his synapses. Not only did he not have a migraine, but there was an absence of the usual lingering unpleasantness. It was the first time Robin had slept so soundly since he could remember.

"If you wanted to join me," Jason chuckled, his voice rough from the first use of the day, "you should've just asked. Sharing my bed would be a more comfortable arrangement."

Breaking eye contact, Robin noted the dull, grayish light entering through the blinds behind Jason. Heavy, dark clouds crowded out the blue sky. The hearty rumble of thunder reached his ears, mixing with the pattering of rain. A flash of light lit up the world outside.

"Crap," Jason swore, "Guess the third day's canceled. We're stuck inside."

 ** _Ba-bum. Ba-bum. Ba-bum._** Robin's ears dialed in on Jason's heart. He mentally dialed out the busy noise outside. He glanced back at Jason, perplexed at the emotional security that the man's heartbeat guaranteed him. Jason wrapped his red blanket around his shoulders, turning himself into a burrito. He gave into gravity and leaned back into the comforts of the couch.

"This is weather makes me wanna curl up with a cuppa tea and a book."

Promptly, Robin's stomach responded by howling like a dwarf swindled out of their moonshine.

"Pfft, guess I know what you wanna do."

Standing up, Jason kept his blanket wrapped around him as a cloak. His stature meant that it stopped just short of his ankles. He waddled across the floor as if to conserve energy, hissing as he came into contact with the chilled flooring. Robin followed closely behind. He logged the slight tightening of Jason's shoulders at his actions.

 _He does not trust you_ , a voice whispered from the corner of Robin's consciousness, _What did Mrs. Andrade tell him?_

Robin closed his eyes, hushing the voice. As Jason placed a kettle on the stove, Robin removed milk from the fridge. Within seconds, Robin sat down at the table with a bowl of cereal. Chewing on a spoonful, he enjoyed the crunch of it. There was the added ease of preparation. Unlike Jason's other meals nothing had to be heated up.

Jason sat down across from Robin moments later. His eyes slightly widened as he observed Robin. He shook his head. Jason pulled his blanket to his neck, sealing his body in the fuzzy material. He looked like a cozy, immobile burrito. It was a personal state of being that suggested kinship and trust with those in the same space. However, Robin's skin itched. Despite the friendliness of his posture, Jason was perched in his seat in such a way that his hand could barely place his mug of tea on the table if he stretched his fingers to their limit. He leaned back into the seat, adding more distance between the two. Whether it was conscious or not, Jason's body language screamed _suspicious_.

A conspiratorial portion of Robin stated, _What is he hiding from you? Other than your identity, I mean, you really are not Robin. That is just a placeholder._

A lung constricting emotion reared its head. Robin's focus shifted to taming the unruly beast twisting around in his chest. It rattled his ribs and trampled his throat. The voice did not help. It egged the beast on, feeding it: _He regrets bringing you, whoever you are, into his house. He used to live on the streets and he doesn't trust you._

It whirled out of control, with its whisperings, _What type of person do you have to be for him be so wary of you? He probably considers you a burden. A deadweight eating all of his food._

"We're going to have to survive off sandwiches today," Jason said, "are you a pb&j or tuna sandwich sort of guy?"

 _What? Reply, Robin,_ he ordered himself through the emotional haze.

"I don't care." 

His tongue was heavy, obstructing his throat. Robin had to ignore the creeping paranoia that he would suffocate on his tongue or forget to breathe. He invested every ounce of concentration into remembering to breathe: _three, six, nine._ An ache developing beside his temples made focusing difficult. They throbbed, sending waves of numbing, indescribable emotions throughout his mind. Robin closed his eyes, zoning in on the air entering and exiting his lungs. He could control, at least, that.

_You won't feel better unless you ask him._

_I doubt he'll answer though._

Tendrils of anxiety snaked through his existence. Opening his eyes, Robin turned his attention any place but that beast in his chest. **_Ba-bum. Ba-bum. Ba-bum._** Robin picked up the thumping of Jason's heart. Using that for a pace, Robin exhaled deeply. He counted off three-six-nine to the rhythm of Jason’s life. Robin wrangled the beast down. It struggled under his weight.

_There was no way I can feel worse than I already do._

"What did Mrs. Andrade tell you?" 

"What?" He swallowed. The corner of his mouth twitched.

"Yesterday," Robin emphasized, "What did Mrs. Andrade tell you? I know you were talking about me."

"Mrs. Andrade,” Jason repeated, “Oh! Abuela Rosa. I almost forgot. No one calls her that."

"Do not avoid the question."

"She -", Jason paused, placing Robin under a microscope with his gem-like eyes.

 _He does not trust you. He is keeping your identity from you. What other important information is he keeping from you?_ The insidious voice hissed, _He thinks so little of you he can't even be assed to lie._

"You’re a hypocrite," Robin swore.

A storm of emotions started up in Robin, he thundered, "You got a chance to build a new you."

Robin shook his head, clenching his teeth until his jaw ached. He growled, "You told me that but you still keep things from, still fear me, still don't trust because of things you know -" Robin's voice twisted turning into a hiss "about the old me. New beginning? It still looks like you're judging me for what he did."

Jason stared at him. His cheek went hollowed. His lip curled in as he chewed on it. Robin closed his eyes. His anger was red hot, boiling over. His hands formed fist that were firmly pressed into his side.

Jason is a hypocrite. He won't tell me the truth, but be couldn't be bothered to lie properly, the fury in the pit of Robin's stomach was white-blue. _He doesn't even respect me enough to tell me he doesn't want me to know._

"What is my name?" Robin asked.

Jason's brow furrowed.

"Tell me who I am. I should leave -"

Jason held his hands up, palms flat in surrender. He articulated, "You're right. I'm not being honest with you. It isn't fair I'm judging you based on rumors. It's going to be fucking hard to live together for a month if we aren't honest with each other. So let's be honest, let's . . ."

It was Jason's turn to be interrupted as a series of knocks echoed through the house.

"Yo, preach I know you're in there," a low voice hollered.

Jason frowned. His expression darkened with annoyance. Jason clicked his tongue. 

"Jaybird, open your door. Your lights are on. I can see your shadow."

Swallowing, Jason made eye contact with Robin. In a sighed, he whispered, "We'll continue this conversation later. I swear."

Jason stood up, edging slowly around the table. He walked as if trudging through a pack of starved wolves. Robin followed Jason with his eyes. Jason only broke contact when he turned to open the door. The squeaking of wet combat boots on old wooden floors drew Robin's attention to the tall, red-headed man entering the house. He was approximately Jason's height.

The man's heart sped up in surprise.The masked man commented, "If I knew you had a guest, I would've changed."

The tall man pressed his mask more firmly into his face. There was a certain quality to his voice that told Robin that he was not from the area. Robin turned, his eyes fixed on the quiver attached to the man's back. Jason's gaze flicked between them and he shook his head. 

He shrugged."It's probably fine. What do you want, Arse?"

"That's cruel," Harper quipped, placing his compact bow and quiver on the floor beside the couch. "Not even going to give me a 'how do you do?'."

"How do you do? What do you want?"

"A towel. I also fucked up my shoulder. Can you look at it?"

"Just stop dripping on my floor, you have to wipe my floors once I'm done."

Peeling off his red raincoat, the man revealed several tattoos covering his arms. He wore a red outfit with dark accents. His hair was several shades lighter, more of an orange than a red. From the way his flesh puckered, it was obvious he had some rough times. His eyes were green, standing out against the splattering of freckles that covered his face.

He slumped onto the couch and eyed Robin curiously. Robin stared back, neither of them blinked. Then Jason returned breaking their line of sight.

"Right now, what hurts?" Jason asked as he sat down next to Arse.

"Shoulder," Arse replied.

Jason put pressure on Arse's shoulder as Arse gritted his teeth.

“Eh! Careful I bruise like a peach."

“This ain’t an ER.”

"Whatever Jaybird…”

The man in red then shifted his attention to Robin. "Hey, you can call me Arsenal. How'd you meet this ball of sunshine here?"

"I am Robin. Jason found me."

“You don’t recognize me?” He pointed to his freckled and masked face. 

Robin shook his head.

Arsenal slacked. "Do Gothamites only know Batsy, hnng. Oh well. Let me guess where- ugh. I’d liked to keep my shoulder, Jay.”

Jason said under his breath, “Baby.”

Robin was struck by the friendly atmosphere of the room. All the tension from ten minutes ago dissipated. He was drawn back to reality as Jason muttered, "So why you really here? It wasn't your shoulder. That's a nasty bruise and a slight sprain but nothing you couldn't have handled on your own."

"Jay, I'm offended I can't believe -"

"Ra - Arsenal," Jason said, firmly.

"I came here for a job. That fell through because of the rain. Can I say here for the night? Pretty please," Arsenal pleaded with a smirk lining his lips.

Jason ran his fingers through his hair. He grumbled, "I'm not a motel."

"He can take the couch," Robin interrupted, "I do not need sleep."

Jason corrected. "You mean, I can take the floor and you take the bed. Unless you want to share a bed."

"Great, nice to meet you, Robin," Arsenal grinned, his teeth shining.

Jason's eyes darted between Robin and Arsenal. Dropping his eyes to the floor, Jason pinched his temples between his thumb and middle finger. He sighed, "How do I always need up like this? I'm running a church, not a shelter."

"Aw, you know you can't help yourself," Arsenal heckled, throwing an arm over Jason's shoulder. Jason's face twisted into a frown with a deep crease forming between his eyebrows. Cupping his hand over his mouth, Arsenal asked in a stage whisper, "You didn't also find him blacked out in an alley, right?"

* * *

The day passed surprisingly fast, aided by Arsenal's antics. It was strange to see the usually wary and calm Jason's face twisted in irritation and frustration. The sort of annoyance etched into his expression was not that reserved for the person you hate, but the fond type intended for close friends. Robin thought he perhaps saw Jason genuinely smile once. The liveliness of Arsenal teasing Jason hastened night.

"I am not sleeping," Robin declared.

"Don't be a brat, you have to sleep some time," Jason groaned, crossing his arms.

"You know, you and I can share a bed and Rob can take the couch," Arsenal suggested, winking playfully, "then he can do what he wants without bothering anybody."

Jason scoffed, "I'm not sharing a room with you after what happened last time."

"It was an honest mistake," Arsenal commented, rubbing his nose.

"Honest mistake my ass," Jason hissed, "you get the couch."

The conversation faded into an awkward silence. Arsenal shuffled toward the couch while Jason headed to the bedroom. Jason insisted on setting a pillow and blanket on the floor of his bedroom despite Robin's protests. It was pointless. Robin not neither the desire or need for sleep. When night came, Robin leaned against the wall with the pillow as cushioning. The house was oddly silent, lacking Roy's laughter and Jason's quick-witted retorts.

The house was usually silent at night, but this silence was different. It was emptier, leaving space for Robin's mind to wander on to dangerous tangents. Instead, Robin turned to the outside world. Inhaling and exhaling deeply, he focused on the symphony of the night. Cars zoomed by, cats yowled in the alleyways, sirens screamed on streets, rats scampered on the roof, electricity buzzed throughout the house, Arsenal's deafening snores leaked through the door.

The shapeless being attempted to fill the spaces between the noise with its paralyzing touch. Robin exhaled and searched the house with his ears. The steady pace of Jason's heart acted as a sentry. The being shrank and hid in a corner of Robin. It sporadically peeked out from its hiding spot, creeping on Robin with its poisonous tendrils. The reliable **ba-bum** warded it away. It was so skittish that Robin could nearly forget its existence as long as he did not focus on it.

A new feeling replaced it that battled with the security that Jason's existence afforded him. It was a slippery, contorted creature that gnawed at Robin's sensibilities. Its secretions marked his spirit with the equivalent tartness of eating ten limes. It was a sticky and unsettling experience. He certainly did not want to dream of the horribleness that haunted his unconscious yet his dependence on Jason's presence for Robin's piece of mind was troubling.

_How was it before I met Jason? Robin pondered, Did the other me have nightmares?_

**Who was I before Robin?**

A sharp pain stalled that line of thought. Rubbing his temple, Robin instead analyzed the planes of Jason's face. He had a sharp jaw and high cheekbones, signs of traditional beauty that were marred by the bitter expression he kept when he is conscious. He was larger than Robin, nearly half a head taller, and broader at the shoulders. However, Robin was certain he could overpower Jason instantly. He did not know where this confidence came from, but Robin knew without a doubt he was stronger than Jason. The question remained: _Why do I feel comforted when he is around?_

All wanted Robin were answers. Wrapping his arms around the blanket, he drew in a breath. He **needed** answers. Nothing else would quell the beast that siphoned oxygen from his lungs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter may be a bit delayed because I am having trouble revising it.


	7. Convocation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early chapter for International Fanwork day!

Jason opened his eyes, groaning softly. His mind still drunk on sleep, hazy. The Sandman beckoned to him, calling Jason back to the sweet embrace of slumber. Jason stretched his hands above his head, arching his back. Blinking, he rubbed the last lingering grains of the Sandman's touch from his eyes. If he had gained anything skill as a pastor, he'd learned how to get up in the mornings no matter how alluring sleep might seem. Turning onto his right side, he opened his eyes.

Jason inhaled sharply, nearly jumping out of his skin. Robin's head came into view centimeters from his torso. Leaning against the bed, Robin looked as if he had been sitting when someone had tipped him over. Luck saved Robin. If he had been any higher or lower, Robin would've gotten an arm to the face or a knee to the neck. Observing Robin, the tension that usually marked Robin’s face was smoothed out by the Sandman's touch. Without his usual apprehensive expression, Robin appeared remarkably young. Robin was most certainly older than Jason, but when he was awake his piercing blue eyes and somber expression coupled the strict manner in which he held himself made him seem like he held several lifetimes under his belt. Asleep, the stiffness in Robin's face softened. Robin seemed more human than corpse-like recently. The last few days added a bit of color and roundness his face.

 _If the birthdate on his obituary is right_ , Jason calculated, _he's thirty-four. That's only seven years older than me._

Jason frowned. _He 'died' a year after his parents. What happened to him in those two decades?_

Jason twisted for a better angle of Robin's face. His brain contorted it with pain, recalling how Robin had screamed his lungs raw on his second night here. Scanning Robin's peaceful face, Jason knew whatever Robin had dreamt of wasn't anything someone should've lived through.

 _That’s true of most of Gotham sadly_. Jason touched his cross. 

As if he’d felt Jason's gaze, Robin sat up. Blinking several times, he examined the room. His focus turned returned to Jason. A small crease formed between his brows as he stared at Jason. Gaining the sudden urge to fiddle with something, Jason reached for his phone. Robin's eyes traced his movement and darted over Jason's face, pinning Jason like a fly pinned under a microscope.

Lightening the mood, Jason teased, "Is my face the only thing you're interested in?"

Robin averted his gaze to the door. He muttered, his voice husky with sleep, "Tell Roy not to make so much noise."

 _Noise?_ he wondered. 

Tilting his ear toward the door, he picked up light scuffing of feet and something knocking on wood. The flooring squeaked. It took an intense amount of concentration for Jason to pick up that microscopic level of noise.

Robin rubbed his ears. , "It sounds like he is leaving."

Jason jolted out of bed and sprinted into the living room. He caught Roy with his hand on the doorknob. Jason crossed his arms and cleared his throat.

He mocked, "It's awkward being caught running the morning after."

Roy spun around, rubbing one hand on the back of his head. He shrugged and a sheepish expression appeared on his face. Looking just above Jason's head, he joked, "You already have another man. You don't need me."

"In all seriousness, you're not going to stay for food?" Jason commented, cocking his brow questioningly.

Glancing around his living room, he noticed a stack of items atop his coffee table: a rectangular box formed the base, atop it were two smaller boxes and a circular tube. Jason clenched his teeth. The stack was glaring out of place. That table never had more than a mug and a book resting on it. 

A light bulb went off in his head, Jason hissed, "Roy."

Jason stepped forward, squaring his shoulders. Roy stepped back, pinning his back against the door. He held his arms out from his body, palms up to both signal his surrender and keep Jason at arm's length. Roy shrugged.

"It's just bandages and stuff 'cuz you know I'm gonna need you to patch me up again."

“How much did you put in there?” Jason glared. 

“A hundred about.”

“That’s more than a motel.”

“Motels don’t patch me up.” Roy rolled his eyes. “I got to pay my contacts right?” 

Shaking his head, Jason approximated two hundred including the bandages. 

_He should worry about his kid first._

He shifted his weight until his feet were a shoulder's width apart. His fingers itched, a byproduct of his sudden nicotine craving. Running his fingers through his hair, Jason scanned Roy's tensed expression. Shuffling back, Jason gave Roy some breathing room.

Jason muttered, "Did you stop by last night just to drop those off?"

Roy's eyebrows shot up and he shook his head in disbelief. He scoffed, "No way. I love ya man, but you're not that special. My job seriously fell through. I bought the stuff by after that."

"Want to stick 'round for breakfast, now that you don't have to run?"

"Nah, someone just hit me up for a new job.”

"Let me escort you out."

Jason stepped back to give Roy room to open the door. **Buzz. Buzz.** His hand shook. Suppressing a flinch, Jason quickly glanced down. Scanning the flashing text, his screen was a violent shade of red.

"Hey, you aren't heading near 10th, are you?"

Roy stilled under the threshold. Leaning his weight on it, he glanced back. Roy asked, "No, why?"

"Red Level Alert: Poison Ivy set a giant roadblock with plant monsters.”

"How’d you know that? Does Gotham have a disaster alert system but for villains?"

"Gotham City," Jason drew out the word and suppressed a laugh, "invest in something like that? The closest the city has to that news reports."

Jason flashed Roy his screen. He clarified, "It's VAY. A navigation app but with stuff for the baddies and active crime sites."

Roy leaned forward. "Is that in the Apple Store?"

Jason lifted one shoulder and dropped it. He clicked his tongue. Jason stated, "It's a local app anyways. So unless you plan on moving in, it isn’t for you.”

Roy pounced. Wrapping Jason in the rough approximation of a hug, he hummed, "You know you love me."

Jason firmly shoved Roy off. Stepping back, Roy chuckled. He rubbed the area lightly. Roy muttered, "Gotham-only? They should totally expand."

"Don't you have somewhere to be? Before the weather takes a turn for the worse."

"Oh crap, You're right. Tell your boyfriend I said ciao," Roy said, saluting Jason as he sprinted out the door.

Following Roy out, Jason reached for his waist. Patting down his empty pockets, Jason exhaled. Turning his mind away from the craving, Jason checked his phone: an indicator for an arson on tenth and Bishop messaging him church details. A banner stretched across the top: _Call the florist._

Jason reflexively widened his eyes and reached for his cross. Shock dashed through his system. Jason disbelievingly mouthed, _How could I forget?_

Hitting speed dial, Jason held the cell phone to his ear. The tone dial buzzed. Jason waited, wrapping his free arm around his chest to block off the morning cold. 

“Good morning,” a soft voice greeted, “Jazmín’s Flowers, how can I help you?”

“Hello? Mrs. Cruz? It’s Father Todd,” Jason replied.

“Ah, are you ordering the same as last year?”

“Yes, I’ll pick it up on the same day.”

“Okay, see you then.”

Reaching backward for the doorknob, Jason stepped into his house. As Jason closed the door, he caught the sight of a patch of sun peeking through the blinding gray sky. He locked the door and glanced in the direction of his room. The air escaped his lungs. 

Jason hissed, "I told you not to do that, Robin."

"Here." He bulldozed ahead. "You said we would talk today."

Shifting his weight from side to side, Jason immediately regretted not taking a morning smoke. He pressed his fingers on his temples, fighting off a headache. Sorting his thoughts, Jason exhaled.

"Want breakfast first?"

"Cereal?" 

"Considering how much of it you ate, I doubt we have any left," Jason teased, "Check under the counter. I'll make some tea."

* * *

His knuckles shone white against the mug. Jason took a sip of the hot, earthy liquid. Inhaling the comforting scent, he took the moment to gather his thoughts. Jason peeked at Robin from over the rim of the mug. The man calmly stared back at him. The bowl in front of him was empty. He sat arms crossed with a frown on his lips.

"You said we would talk," Robin stated, breaking the silence.

Unable to stall any longer, Jason placed his cup on the table. He exhaled, forcing himself to relax. Jason traced the outline of his cross. Brushing his hair away from his face, Jason asked, "To be clear, you have a problem with me keeping things from you?"

At the nod of Robin's head, Jason saw . The image of his younger self-superposed with Robin: the distrusting angle of his brow, the downward curve of his mouth, and the aura of suspicious of his posture. If Robin was a younger Jason, Jason was taking the place of. . . 

Drawing on his past, Jason continued, "I can't promise to always be honest, but we need to be able live together. For that to happen, you need to be able to trust me. And-"

"I suggested that I leave," Robin countered.

"And, I need to trust you.” Jason added, “Where would you go?"

Jason internally cringed at that statement. The knowing tone made his skin crawl. It reminded of adults who blasted their mouths off when they had no idea why the streets were a better option than what they suggested.

Robin glanced at the floor. His fingers tapped out a three-six-nine beat on his thigh. Leaning on the backrest, Jason took a sip of his tea. A few minutes passed, Robin met Jason's gaze. 

"What do you suggest?"

"We start building that trust. You ask me a question, I have to answer honestly, vice versa," Jason explained, placing his mug on the table, "Anything is free game. No lies, but anyone is free to skip a question as long as they answer different question. I’d rather we keep the one-month deal as is if but that’s up to you."

Jason paused, giving Robin time to digest the information. He added, "For example, if you asked me, what my favorite color was I'd say green. That make sense?"

Robin nodded and asked, "Who goes first?"

"I'll start with something easy," Jason racked his brain for a question and lamely finished, "do you think of me?"

 _Wait, that’s a pretty hard question_ , Jason realized. _Maybe I should change it._

"Strange," Robin pondered aloud, "It is hard to understand you but you are also very straightforward at the same time."

Gesturing at Robin, Jason passed the hat to Robin. The man's fingers tapped leisurely along the table edge as he considered his options. Robin made eye contact. His cloudy eyes probed Jason.

He finally asked, "Why is Roy not allowed in your room?"

Jason blinked, mentally fumbling for the answer. That wasn't what he expected Robin to start off with. Roy stood out on Robin’s tongue. Chewing on his cheek, Jason spat out, "The short story: he left a very visible hickey and I became the neighborhood gossip for the month.”

"Are you dating Roy?"

"No, he's a punk I fed once and now he acts like he owns the place. I am bi though," Jason smirked, "That's two questions, but I'll you that one as a freebie."

Keeping his early questions superficial, Jason asked, “How’d you figure out Roy’s name?”

“I have heightened hearing.”

 _Superman good or_ , Jason filed that way for future probing. 

"Oh, then your turn.” 

Placing his arms on the table, Jason leaned forward. His fingers wrapped around his mug, leeching the heat from the tea. Robin shifted in his seat. His gaze flickered toward the bathroom. 

"Why do you dye your hair?"

Jason clenched his teeth. He angled his mug, observing his reflection in the dark liquid. Brushing imaginary strands out hair out of his face, he exhaled. Jason sipped his tea. 

"Now it's just a habit. At first, I did it because kids are cruel. How’d you know I dyed my hair?"

"The boxes under the sink. That was a question, but now we are even."

"What did Rosa and you talk about?" Jason focused on keeping his tone light.

Burying his nerves, Jason tilted his head. He held his fingers firmly on the table. Jason raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"She told me about the time you rallied all the neighborhood kids and started a mutiny."

"Oh just that," Jason hummed. He jerked his head in Robin's direction, a silent go.

"Why," Robin asked, pausing to think, "did you help me out?"

Jason jolted upright. "I already-"

Robin shook his head. “No. The other reason, more than just paying it forward. It is like you are forced to.”

Having been told that, Jason realized his fingers were tracing the outline of his silver necklace. Dropping his hand, Jason closed his eyes. A blinding smile, warm hand, and hearty voice danced through Jason's head and were replaced with an empty house and a cheap, black coffin.

"Half of it is paying it forward," Jason started, "The other half is honoring-"

Jason paused, “Jer, the priest who raised me.” 

Suddenly at a loss for words, he swallowed. He repeated the action, forcing the whiplash of emotions down his throat. His fingers tightened around his cross until his hand trembled partly from the immense tension and partly from the pain. The sharp ache was good though, a distraction from more intense feelings that Jason thought he had laid to rest years ago. 

Jason finished, "He died helping others."

 _And I wasn’t there_ , Jason mentally added, biting his cheek.

Jason leaned forward, forcing a laugh. "I guess it's my turn."

Matching Robin's pace, he asked, "Why do you want to leave?"

"I do not understand why you want me to stay," Robin began, his fingers tapping in patterns of three along his lap. 

"It was more straightforward," he coughed, "there."

 _There?_ Jason questioned, but kept his mouth shut. Robin's clouded eyes and measured taps suggested that it was a taboo topic. Robin remained silent. His chest visibly expanded and contracted in a deliberate, calibrated breathes. Jason took a sip of tea and waited.

"What did Mrs. Andrade tell you about me?" Robin commented in a breathless huff.

"She, um, said you, er, looked familiar.”

 _She didn't tell you his name,_ a fraction of him whispered.

Another empathetic part of him countered, _Look. Do you want to be **that** guy?_

_If Jer had done this sort of crap, you’ve booked it. It’s shit to always keep an eye open for guy you think will turn tail and stab you in the back._

Brain generated several rationalizations for either side of the argument, spitting out _'what ifs', 'it's best', 'it's for his own good', 'it's what he wants', 'it's what he needs'_. Weighing out the options in his head, he settled on transparency. 

He stated, "I looked him up and he looks like you, if you knew how to smile -," Jason joked reflexively before continuing, "His name was Richard Grayson."

"Richard," Robin broke it down into his syllables. 

Forming the name silently, his lips drooped at the corners. He pressed three fingers alongside his forehead, cupping his face. His eyes narrowed in what appeared to be a mixture of pain and concentration.

"You don't have to remember," Jason gasped, concern lacing his every word.

Robin shook his head, dropping his hand to his side. His head tilted to the side. His fingers lingered on the side of his head.

"Richard feels familiar, but off."

"I can't put my finger on it like I know the name, but it is not mine," Robin expanded.

"Well," Jason racked his memory and said, "I think an article said you were called Dick."

"Dick?" Robin muttered.

His fingers tapped out a quick rhythm. Even though he was looking at Jason, his sky-colored eyes seemed to peer through Jason. Robin’s other hand rubbed the side of his head, but his expression softened. His narrowed eyes lost their intensity. The furrow of his brow smoothed out. His lips pulled up slightly at the corners. Robin’s demeanor filled with a nostalgic air.

"Dick, my name is Dick," he whispered, "Dick Grayson."

He nodded slightly as if the name agreed with him. The skin around his mouth tightened as his lips formed a firm line. His clear sky colored eyes scanned Jason, dividing him into bite-sized pieces.

"My identity wasn't what you were hiding from me," Robin thought aloud, "or that identity, Dick Grayson, wasn't what you were hiding from me."

Switching the topic, Robin inquired, "What is your next question?"

"Not my question," Jason said, "but are you going by Dick now? It'd be kind've weird to change what I call you now, but it's your choice."

He stilled. He then ever so slightly nodded. Robin hummed, "Dick, I think I used to like that name."

"Alright, correct me if I slip up," Jason paused, "Let's make that the last question."

"No, I have one more question."

"Fine, the second to last," Jason corrected, "Why do you do this?"

Jason placed his fingers flat on the table and began drumming out a three beat pattern. Robin, Jason corrected, **Dick’s** eyes widened and he inhaled.

"It helps," he began and arranged his words, "pace my breathing when . . ."

He made a vague gesture in the direction of his chest. Dick frowned. He softly knocked the table. His face pinched as he watched his knuckles rapping on the chipped wood.

Rob - Dick continued, "When it feels like the wind has been knocked out of my lungs. I know that that feeling will stop and I am breathing but it feels like my lungs will stop working."

"Oh," Jason swallowed. He'd never experienced something like that, but he had heard of people with symptoms like that. _Maybe I should look it up or tell Rob - Dick to look it up or ask the doctor at the clinic. The clinic!_

"Am I a villain?"

"What?" Jason choked, yanked out of his thoughts.

"Am I a villain?" Dick repeated carefully, "That's the only way not telling me who I am, but giving me my name isn't contradictory. And why it is so important I get a new beginning."

"Prob-" Jason started. The narrowing of Dick's eyes stopped him. 

Jason considered, _What is the Talon exactly?_

Jason bit his cheek and questioned, _And if this was me, would I want to know?_

"Not a villain," Jason stated.

In the back of his mind, Jason heard children singing, _Speak not a whispered word about them, or they'll send the Talon for your head._

He ended, "but definitely not a hero."

Silence hung in the air. 

“Are we g-” 

_No. Wrong words. Shitty words. Only time will tell if we’re good._

Jason amended, “Remember the head scans, we talked about?”

Rob- Dick nodded. 

“Well, Abuela found someone. For tonight. After all this. Are you up for it?”

“Um.” Robin fiddled with his spoon. Then, he nodded. “One less thing to be worried about.” 

“Abuela wants to come with us. Is that fine with you?”

“Is she your connection?” 

Jason nodded. It wasn’t a huge secret and Dick could more of the truth. “She was an R.N. at Gotham General.” 

He smiled and continued. “Taught me all I know.”

“Okay.”

“Someone is dropping off keys later, so if you hear anyone that’s him.” Jason relaxed his shoulders. “I need some fresh air. Feel free to help yourself to the kitchen.” 

Jason exhaled, smoke snaked out of his mouth. Tapping his cigarette on the side of his house wall, he looked up at the murky sky. He rubbed his eyes and sighed. 

_Should I just tell R- Dick that he’s Talon?_ Jason thought of all the people in his life that told him that they were doing it for his own good. He grimaced, taking another drag. 

_“This is a chance to build a new you,” Robin growled._

_Is it better if I -_ Jason rolled his eyes. 

When do kindness and consideration become cruel? 

Inhaling more smoke, he grimaced again. _Like you’re that noble, Jason. What’s better or good for Dick is only something he can decide. What's the least shitty thing you can do for him?_

Jason crushed the stub of his cigarette on the wall and lit a new one. 

* * *

He watched Robin from the corner his eye. How Rob-Dick held his shoulders too tight and angled his legs toward the car door. Drumming on the steering wheel, Jason wondered if it was the proximity or the limited space that made Dick so antsy. Or the smell, Jon liked his tiger’s balm. 

Focusing on the road in front of him, Jason kept his mouth shut. After their talk, they weren’t good with another - in a better place maybe but not good. The air between them was charged. 

Abuela seemed to notice this as she focused on knitting in the back.

“Doing that in the dark is bad for the eyes,” Jason warned, breaking the silence. 

“Tsk. That is not true. If it were, my eyes cannot get any worse.” 

“Be careful.”

The car wheels skirted cracked and hole ridden roads. The surrounding buildings had similar wear and tear. The boarded-up windows and trash littered street formed from Gotham’s neglect. 

The red glowing sky was not sunset made. The gray plumes of rinsing smoke were not smog. Sirens billowed about the string of arsons plaguing Gotham. The smoke and redness of the sky punctuated the city’s decay. Sometimes it felt like Gotham was closing in on them.

Jason tightened his grip on the steering wheel. His knuckles shone white. Exhaling, he pulled up alongside the cleanness building in this area. 

He blinked. On opening of his eyes, he plastered a small smile on his face. 

“We’re here.”

Jason jumped out. Jogging around the car, he raced to open the back passenger seat before Abuela could. He held out his arm.

“After you, Abuelita.” 

She chuckled. Taking his arm, she teased, “I wonder how long before this arm does not have room for me.”

She pointedly looked at Robin.

Jason guided her to the dimly lit building without a word. Dick trailed behind them. The door was locked. Abuela knocked with her free hand in sequence: twice, pause, thrice, pause, once. 

A blond, twenty half year old open the door. 

Jason blinked. “Um… Hello, Dr. Thompsons?” 

“Thompkins,” she corrected, pointing the faded name on the window. 

She stepped back, holding the door open. The interior was rectangular and smelled faintly of cleaner. 

“Doc, your guests are here!” 

She directed toward the back. “She should be back there. Somewhere. How do you know the Doc anyway? She never tells me about her after hours gue-”

“Stephanie!” an elderly voice chided. 

“I know, I know deniability - my future and other blah. I’m going. I’m going.” 

The door chimed close behind them. 

Walking down the hall, they were greeted by a woman in her late fifties or early sixties in a white coat. 

“Hello, Nurse Andrade.” Dr. Thompkins smiled. 

“I’m retired.”

As they exchanged pleasantries and small talk, Jason watched Robin his weight between his legs. He stood away from everyone. His body angled toward the door. A bird poised for flight. 

“I apologize for my manners, but we should get through this as quickly as possible,” Jason urged, reaching hand into his coat pocket.

Abuela nodded, but her mouth formed a terse line. 

“A favor, a favor,” Dr. Thompkins replied amicably. “Sit on the table and I’ll get the contrast.”

The plastic crinkled as Dick jumped on. 

“Um. My heart is slow. Is that an issue?” 

The doctor’s hand hovered over the syringe. 

“How slow? Bradycardia?”

He shook his head. “Around 40. No. It has always been slow. As long as I can remember. I'm a super.”

 _A week_ , Jason thought, _or are you starting to remember more._


	8. Pandemonium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warnings at the end for those who would like them.

_Wrapped in an embrace, he burrowed into the warmth. His cheeks rubbed against synthetic fibers. The scent of powdery chalk and old sawdust infused his world, strangely soothing him. A hand stroked his head, tucking his messy, wavy stands behind his ears. The warmth drew away from him. Chalky fingers cupped his face and tilting it up. She cradled him in her arms. Although he couldn't see her expression, he knew a smile graced her lips. She laughed. A sweet, joyous sound that caused giggles to bubble out from his small body. Squinting his eyes, he couldn't make out her face. His eyes were an out of focus camera, unable to discern her features. She leaned down, blurring her form even more._

_She whispered, "You're a little too young to be out here, Dick."_

_Her voice evoked an unrelenting yearning in him. Her lips ghosted his forehead, spreading her warmth into his body. Another hand joined, patting his head fondly with a large calloused hand twice the size of his face. Angling his head up, he saw a man. He wore the same form-hugging blue leotard that she wore. The wing pattern across the chest was more prominent on him than her. Tugging Dick into his chest, he rubbed Dick's hair, turning into a mess of curls._

_He chuckled, "You got a few more years, kiddo before you can come on stage with us."_

_Abruptly, a force tore Dick out from his parent's arms. His parents? Mom and dad?! He reached out to them. His hands met air. He screamed for them. Silence responded._

_The Earth shifted on its axis and the world shattered. Windmilling his arms, he watched them double in size. He was older. Instead of falling into the darkness, the darkness consumed him, surrounding him with its icy touch. The world was one devouring color: black. The cloyingly and sickeningly metallic odor of blood filled the space. In a panicked frenzy, he slammed his fists on the walls. Beating on the narrow walls, he realized the coppery scent came from his battered fists._

_Light filtered through a circular window. From the corner, he saw a heavy iron panel the same shape as the window. His cage. Outside stood three figures, each twice his size. The third stood between the first two, obviously in charge. Covering his face was a white mask imprinted with the outline of a beak. Black hollows existed where the eyes should have been._

_Muffled through the metal space, Dick heard the words, "The gray son has returned. Tonight [-----] rises! Begin the process."_

_A stabbing ache shot through his brain. Suffocating dread overtook that. **Clank.** The metal cover slammed shut, sealing him in darkness. He punched the window. His hands numb from the cold. His fist rebounded. Dick dropped it. Bone-deep exhaustion settled into his marrow with the cold. Dick drowned as the metal conditioner heated up. The air grew arid and stale. The oxygen was stripped from his lungs, stolen from his hemoglobin. Those four walls became his killing ground, coffin, and graveyard. The world went black._

_The light returned a lifetime later. When the heavy door of Dick's coffin opened, a broken person stepped out. Like a movie montage, the days slipped by. They trained him, molding him into their weapon, and he rested in Dick's coffin until days turned to weeks turned to years. One day, the white masks sent him on a mission. Blood stained his hands. The copper scent lingered in his nose, bleeding into his soul. Vestigial spirit of Dick drowned in red. Dick died. The gray son, their -_

_A jabbing pain dug into his brain. The word Dick so violently tried to reject struck his gray matter. It was a winged beast tearing away at his self, killing and consuming the remains of Dick like the eagle to Prometheus. **It clawed into his neurons: Dick Grayson is dead.**_

Dick jolted awake, gasping for air. The springs of the couch creaking under his jerky movements. An overwhelming gouging sensation radiated from the center of his head, consuming his thoughts. He cradled his head in his arms, clenching his teeth to keep his screams in his throat.

Every fiber of his being stated, _Dick Grayson is dead._

Dick drew in rough, jagged breaths. A sliver of his conscious logically knew this was false, but his emotions aligned with it. His heart countered, _but what if it isn't?_

His center of emotion placed him under a microscope, dividing him into segments, reducing him into his memories, hollowing him out. The elements of his identity quantified, compared to another, and cataloged. Each part of his fragile identity placed into a neat slide and analyzed. All leading to the conclusion that he wasn't real.

 _You're not Dick_ , it declared, people have memories. _People know who they are. You only think you're Dick._

_Even if you were, you don't remember being him. Where it matters Dick is dead. You're not him. You’re not real._

He felt surreal as the last two phrases spiraled around in his head, gaining a life of their own. His emotions went into free fall without a safety net. Curling up, he physically held himself together. His chest heaved. His lungs struggled for shuddering gasps of air. He scratched at his arms in a struggle to form a tighter ball. The mild sting of his nails digging into his flesh comforted him. Not-real people couldn't feel pain. He repeated the motion. The _skrit skrit_ of his nails running along his bicep helped muffled his out-of-control emotions. The repetitive action gave him something else to focus on.

"Rob- _Dick!_ " Jason exclaimed.

His brain retorted, _You're not Dick. Dick's dead. You're not real._

He drew in short, shallow breaths as his chest constricted, choking the life out of him. He redoubled his efforts into the small, inward clawing. His mind and heart continued to agree that _Dick was dead, so he wasn't real._

Shifting his focus, he picked up Jason's thumping pulse: **Ba, ba, ba, ba, ba, ba.** The beat was a racing prestissimo to his usual even tempo. Instinctively, he matched his breathing with Jason's heartbeat. He inhaled quickly and superficially, barely gathering half a mouthful of air before exhaling. His head spun with the toxic mixture of emotional overload and lack of oxygen.

"Dick," Jason repeated, "Do you need me to grab you anything?"

_Dick's dead. You're not real._

"Talk to me. Can I do anything to help?"

_Dick's dead. You're not real._

The rhythmic, reliable _skrit, skrit_ of nail on skin relieved a small portion of his internal strife. The increasingly burning ache a welcome distraction from the inferno that raged in his mind. Where his lungs failed him, the diagonal motions were something he could control.

Scratching noises of wood on linoleum told him that Jason had dragged the coffee table away from the couch. Suddenly, he spotted Jason's face in his periphery, in the space above his knees. Concern etched itself into Jason's face. He edged closer until there was not more than a few centimeters between them. He moved slowly as if not to spook him.

"I have no idea how you're feeling," Jason started, carefully forming his syllables, "I can't even imagine it, so I won't lie and say I understand. But I do know that you probably feel real shitty so just focus on me okay? We're - you're going to get through this."

He forced himself to nod, although he was not sure Jason saw it through his tightly wound body.

"Let's get your breathing under control, okay?"

Jason paused for a moment, then said, "Inhale."

Following Jason's directions, he sucked in unsteady gasps of air. His lungs begged for more as he stilled at Jason's 'hold'. His chest shook as he exhaled slowly, rattling like a wind chime in a tornado. Focusing on Jason's directions, his breathing stabilized to a manageable pace until his head only reeled from the chanting: _Dick's dead. You're not real._

His head pulsed. The words looped in his brain, dragging their talons into his gray matter. He held his head tightly. The flow of air through his lungs attempted to anesthetize the winged monster in his skull. The pulsing lessen marginally. The beast flared out, refusing to be calmed.

"Okay, good," Jason encouraged, "Now please give me your hands."

He curled in. Dragging his fingers across his bicep more roughly, the ache numbed his other ravage emotions. The dull burn a welcome distraction to the stifling, strangling mantra: Dick's dead. You're not real.

"You're hurting yourself. I'm asking you to give me your hands, but I won't make you."

He unclenched one fist and edged it forward.

"I am going to hold it, okay? You can pull away if you want."

Jason's palm was clammy with sweat and feverish compared to his. Jason's thumb moved in small, light circles, massaging his hand. Tugging it away from Dick's - no, he wasn't Dick - not-Dick's body, Jason tilted his face into not-Dick's line of sight.

"Just squeeze my hand like this," Jason demonstrated, applying pressure. "As hard as you need, whenever you need to scratch yourself. And when you want to give me your other hand Alright, Robin? Sorry, I mean Dick."

_Dick's dead. You're not real._

Not-Dick clenched his hand into a fist. A soft hiss left Jason's mouth, but he didn't remove his hand. Uneasily, not-Dick reached out his other hand towards Jason. The calloused palm welcomed his into an embrace. Jason slowly drew not-Dick's hands closer to him and away from not-Dick’s scratched up biceps.

"Now, do you think you can explain to me why you did this?"

_Dick's dead. You're not real._

Not-Dick leaned into the couch, pulling his hands toward his chest. Jason resisted, moderately. He gave in to Jason, gripping the hands tightly. He heard the gritting sound of clenched teeth. Jason’s jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed.

"I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong, but if you're not up for it right now, we can just say like this until you feel better," Jason clarified.

_Dick's dead. You're not real._

The welts on his arms itched, calling his attention. With his hands pinned by Jason's, he lost his emotional outlet. The chanting and its corresponding emotions clogged his throat. Clamping down on Jason's hands, he heard them protest, popping at the knuckles. He eased up. Not-Dick drowned the words without anything to support him.

_Dick's dead. You're not real._

Not-Dick bent down toward his knees. His arms itched. The sides of his throat tightened. He pulled his knees upward to his chest. 

"Hey, Dick, look at me," Jason urged, "Whatever is making you feel shitty, sucks. It totally sucks. If telling me why would help, tell me. If squeezing my hand helps, do it. If there's something I can do to help, tell me. Remember you're not alone, okay."

"Dick's dead," he hissed out, "I'm not real."

His heart took that as an admittance of truth. A vortex opened, threatening to suffocate him in its grasp. A wetness appeared under his lids, a physical representation of his overwhelming emotions. The emotion stuck in his throat, blocking his airway. The sounds clogged his vocal cords.

Not-Dick hiccuped, "I don't want to go away."

Jason stilled. His breath hitched in his throat. He peered at not-Dick, analyzing his expression. Jason opened and closed his mouth. His face pinched with concentration. 

He uneasily asked, "Why would you go away?"

“I am not real.”

“Well, am I real?” Jason inquired.

Not-Dick blinked. He eyed Jason. His brain reasoned, _Jason knows who he is. He has his memories. Jason is real._

"Yes."

"So I am real.”

Not-Dick nodded.

“Since I am real, you’re a -” Jason paused in the middle of his phrase. 

He alternatively rationalized, “I am real so I can’t disappear. So, if we kept doing this -” Jason tugged not-Dick’s hands up lightly and squeezed them - “You don’t disappear.” 

Not-Dick considered it. His mind turned to the steady beat of Jason’s heart and how that freed him from the anxious creature in his chest. He bobbed his head in agreement.

"Okay." Jason folded his legs and plopped on the ground. He kept not-Dick’s fingers in his hands. Jason said, "I'm not moving until you feel better."

Jason sat in front of him, bleary-eyed. His mouth formed a determined line. His heart evened out giving not-Dick something to focus on other than the itch on his arms or the throbbing in his head: **Ba-bum. Ba-bum. Ba-bum. Ba-bum.** It lulled his internal strife into a state of torpor. **Ba-bum. Ba-bum. Ba-bum**.

Jason's head dropped down and jerked up at odd intervals. Not-Dick assumed that the Sandman had caught up with Jason after an hour of silence. He periodically scanned Not-Dick's face. His pinched expression twisted his features, lining it with worry. He cupped not-Dick's hands, intermittently massaging and squeezing them as a physical reminder of his presence. The heat from Jason's digits transferred into not-Dick's, melting the numbing mental blizzard. In a similar way, the thumping of Jason's heart was an auditory comfort: **Ba-bum. Ba-bum. Ba-bum.** A consistent reminder that not-Dick wasn't alone.

 _No, Dick_ , he corrected himself, _I am Dick Grayson._

The surreal notion he was not real faded from his body, leaving behind a residue of overwrought emotions. The overload of anxiety and paranoia that coated his mind drained his mind and body. His heart still pumped offbeat and a pulsing migraine clenched his head. Glancing down, swollen, puckered, red welts marred his biceps. The diagonal claw marks puffed up several centimeters yet they barely broke the skin, only nanometer strips of skin flipped up. The area faintly burned.

"There doesn’t seem to be any internal bleeding or damage,” Thompkins said, pointing at the scan on the lightbox. 

She frowned. “Whatever injury you may have had, it seems to have healed up before you reached me. My best guess either your memories will return in bursts over time or they won’t.”

Dick shifted. A part of him wanted them to never return. Another wanted that safety net. He swallowed. The couch groaned with his movements. The moon bled through the panels covering the windows. Dick sat up. His arm lagged behind. Glancing down, he noticed Jason’s fingers loosely wrapped around his. Straightening up completely dislodged them. 

Jason jolted. His hand groped the cushions, recapturing Dick’s hand. His free hand formed a sloppy fist. Jason rubbed his knuckle along eyelids. He blinked and blinked and blinked. He looked up at Dick. His brow knitted together. He squeezed Dick’s hand firmly. His eyes similarly skimmed Dick’s face, searching. The lapis irises lacked clarity. They filled with a mixture of emotions that Dick did not recognize. 

He untangled his fingers from Jason's, rubbing his thumb across the tops of his appendages. He felt the smoothness of them, testing his tactile senses. He relaxed his hand and hovered above the welts on his arms. He applied pressure, examining the damage. Jason whispered, "How do you feel?"

Awful, he thought.

"My head is pounding," he said instead.

"Want an aspirin?"

Dick closed his eyes. Head felt like someone had taken a bat to it, but it paled to the comfort that Jason's presence provided. He opened his eyes and shook his head, smarting at the dull pain that action caused.

"Alright," Jason sighed. He ran his fingers through his hair, revealing his orangish roots. Swallowing, he asked, "Do you want to talk to me about it?"

The mere thought of earlier that night created a lump in Dick's throat, threatening to uncap his sanity. His chest tightened reflexively. Despite the resonating pain, Dick fervidly shook his head.

"Okay, do you think you're good now? To sleep alone, I mean."

Diverting his gaze, Dick swallowed. The risk of returning to his previous state was so abhorred he'd rather stay up. If there was only a way to never sleep again. He'd troubled Jason enough, so he nodded curtly.

Jason promptly stood up, brushing the lint off his pants. His eyes darted over Dick's figure as he slowly retreated. When Jason turned, the reassuring ba-bum of his heart faded. Clenching his hands, Dick felt Jason's warmth fading from the tips. Instinctively, he reached out, catching the back of Jason's shirt.

Jason paused, glancing at him. Dick immediately released. A tingling bubble of shame and embarrassment popped in his belly. Jason turned on his heels, studying Dick. His gaze seemed to look through Dick. Jason traced the outline of his necklace.

He offered, "Or you can sleep in my room."

Dick opened and closed his mouth, hating the feeling of dependence.

"Hmm," Jason chuckled, "I used to sneak into Jer's room at night when I had nightmares. It's sort of refreshing to be on the other side.”

Not giving Dick a word edgewise, Jason directed, “Grab your pillow and blanket and follow after me."

He shifted, walking slowly as if to encourage Dick. Bundling up the pillow and blanket, Dick edged forward. He froze at the doorway. Jason tilted to glance between Dick, the bed, and the gap between the mattress and dresser. 

Jason suggested, "You can take the floor or we can share the bed, whichever you want."

“How did two people live here?” _It’s a one-bedroom house._

Jason’s hand jumped defensively to his cross. He stepped back. His eyes focused beyond Dick. His elbows tucked in close to his body. The distance between his feet shrank. His face angled toward the ground.

“There used to be two rooms. Couldn’t afford to rebuild the second after the accident.”

“The accident?”

Jason made eye contact. The lapis blue turned hard. Jason nodded. His knuckles went white.

“Okay,” Dick replied, retreating from the topic.

A strained silence passed.

Jason commented, “We should try to get whatever sleep we can still manage.”

Jason offered an unconvincing smile. He turned and plopped into his sheets. He rolled toward the wall, leaving space for a second body. Dick alternated his gaze between the bed and the ground. Dropping his shoulders, his hand brushed along his arm. His fingers felt a chill. Jason’s earlier warm completely disappeared from his skin.

"I spent years waking up in a cold sweat because of nightmares. I never said anything, but I always was grateful when Jer kept me company 'til I could sleep again."

That’s what Jason said, but Dick heard a silence peace offering: _Whatever you do I will not judge you._

Reluctantly, Dick slunk under the covers. The bed creaked as Jason flipped on his side, facing the wall. Through his back, Dick heard the lulling music of Jason's heart. Jason stiffened. Without realizing it, Dick had twisted closer to the sound: **Ba-bum. Ba-Ba-bum. Ba-bum.**

* * *

The vibrations of Jason's voice shook the sand from Dick's eyes. At some point in the night, he burrowed into Jason's arms. His ear laid next to Jason's chest, right over his heart. The ba-bum of its beats relaxed Dick. Jason's chin kept him in place. Half-asleep Dick buried himself deeper into the warmth that enveloped him.

"Dick, you awake?" Jason muttered. 

As Dick made his decision, Jason's fingers laced themselves into Dick's hair. His fingers twisted Dick's hair. The movements growing broader until he stroked Dick's head. Dick let out a small purr of contentment. As his wits returned to him, Dick felt a heat flush his face. Too embarrassed to move, he faked sleep, turning his face into Jason's chest.

His voice pitched up half an octave pained Dick’s ears with its sharpness. Dick pressed his ears into Jason’s chest. The Jason’s tempo sped up. **Ba-bum, ba-bum, ba-bum.**

Jason shifted, pulling away from him. Unwilling to forfeit the heat source, Dick tugged Jason back with his legs. He trapped Jason. Jason sputtered, arranging himself. Jason positioned himself in a strange wide c-formation where his arms touched Dick as did his legs, torso, and neck only his hips did not.

"Shit," Jason hissed, stretching the syllables.

"Dick better be asleep."

Jason's drummed out a ba-ba-bum pattern before settling down to its usual ba-bum pace. His shoulders stiffened, creating an uncomfortable space for Dick's head to rest. Jason squirmed, moving his arm out from under Dick's neck. Jason pulled his body away. His legs pinned by Dick’s. 

"You awake?"

"Hello?"

Jason twisted on the bed, groaning. Again, he attempted to free his appendages from Dick's gripe and failed. He paused. A heavy breath pushed out of his lungs like an elongated note out of an organ. 

"Dick! Wake up unless you want me to piss the bed."

Opening one eye, Dick peered up at Jason, whose face was contorted with pain. Untangling their limbs, Dick turned on to his other side, pulling the blankets closer to him to make up for lost of warmth. Jason vault over Dick, towards the door. He nearly crashed into the floor as the blankets clung to him. Jerking open the door. He dashed into the bathroom. The loud slam of the door relayed his urgency.

Several minutes later, Jason reappeared. Dick peeked from under the bundle of blankets. Jason rubbed the back of his head. The gesture reminded Dick vaguely of Roy. 

Jason teased, "Are you going to stay there all day, bedbug?"

Pushing off the swatches of cloth, Dick sat up. Observing the tense angle of Jason's shoulders, Dick blinked. Jason similarly seemed to be gauging Dick. His eyes sweep Dick in broad, lingering strokes. A minute passed, Jason stepped closer. Sitting on the edge of the edge, he maintained eye contact with Dick.

"Probably not the most fun thing to start off the morning with," Jason began, "but do you wanna talk about what happened last night?"

"No."

Jason tilted his head up. His hand moved to his forehead, kneading it. Exhaling, he re-established eye contact with Dick. He scraped his fingers through his hair. Blowing out a tired hiss, Jason massaged his scalp. His lapis eyes flicked across Dick's face, losing clarity.

Jason admitted, "This is normally the part where I say you don't have to talk to me. And then I refer you to someone else."

He inhaled, dragging in a mouthful of air. His cheeks appeared hollow from how deeply he breathed in akin to an exasperated recreation of Munch's _The Scream_. His exhalation matched the mood of his previous action.

Connecting the dots, Dick finished, "But I'm not normal."

"This situation isn't normal," Jason corrected, "but if you don't want to talk to me. . ."

Jason paused, "With your circumstances, Roy probably knows someone that can help. I can ask him if you want."

 _I don't want to talk at all,_ Dick answered silently.

The gut-wrenching, drowning on land, mind-consuming awfulness of the previous day he didn't want to remember fluttered in the pit of his stomach. It left a prickling sensation in his mind. Even considering talking to someone seemed unpleasant, especially someone he didn't know. 

_I want to forget it ever happened._

Jason's arm flopped into his lap. He compromised, "When, if, you feel like it, I'll call Roy, okay?"

Dick bobbed his head in agreement.

Jason shuffled closer. Holding up his palms flat, he stood in the universal sign of surrender. 

"Can I see your arm?"

Dick twisted his body. The blankets fell from his sides. Jason leaned forward, tapping on the length of his bicep. Dick saw no signs of that night except microscopic, curled bits of skin. A slight pinkish tint contrasted with his muted pigment.

"Should've asked this first, but how do you feel?" Jason reflected.

His spirit felt like it had been thrown in a whirlpool. His joints ached ever so slightly and the insides of his eyelids were sandpaper. Otherwise, he was in one piece. 

"Fine."

“On a scale from one to ten, how bad is the pain?”

“I don’t know.”

Jason’s fingers pinched his inner arm.“Feel any pain?”

“No,” Dick answered, ending that line of questioning.

"Aren’t priests supposed to be better at this?" Dick asked to fill the awkwardness. As soon as the words left his mouth, he mentally flinched. It seemed more like a bomb than an olive branch.

"This is a personal conversation," Jason pulled in shoulders up and relaxed them. He added, "Roy hates it when I use my Father Todd voice in these situations."

Inclining his head, Dick questioned, "What's your Father Todd voice?"

Jason fixed his posture, drawing in a deep lungful of air. His expression flattened out as if he were clay and a sculptor smoothed out his imperfects. A small smile etched onto his lips and he opened his eyes. 

In a measured tone, he politely explained, "The one I use during sermons and mass."

His timbre was pleasant and calm yet the hairs on Dick's neck stood up. The voice and face matched Jason's. The intonation and expression did not. Jason sounded and appeared professional and courteous, but nothing at all like Jason. Dick knew exactly why Roy hated this voice.

"Stop.”

"Pfft," Jason chuckled, "It's the best way to repel Roy. That and this one commercial."

Jason continued, “You appear to be in one piece. Are you up for leaving the house?”

 _I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts._ Dick nodded.

Clapping his hands, Jason said, "Great. We’re outta food and need to restock. While we’re at it, we can get you some clothes. Not that you don’t look great in my clothes, but I sort of need them back."

"I thought you were short on money."

"Roy's my sugar daddy," Jason joked.

Dick parroted, suppressing a smile, “What is a sugar daddy?”

Jason’s jaw snapped shut. 

Promptly he moved on, he said, "I got a bit of pocket change now."

“You did not-”

“You don’t need to know what that is.”

"Come on, get up," Jason declared, lightly shoving Dick's shoulder.

As Dick pulled on an old, worn t-shirt two sizes too large, Jason shouted, "Tie your hair up!"

Dick frowned. The rubber bands tugged at his scalp, clinging to his hair when he removed them. The small sticks of metal, bobby pins, were less annoying, but Dick hadn't remembered how to shape a bun yet. Unwilling to ask, he pulled his wet strands into a rubber monstrosity. It pulled his hairs at the roots. Dick grimace as he formed the low ponytail.

"Are you ready?" Jason called through the door.

Dick slipped into the bare at the sleeves blue jacket that Jason had rummaged out of donations. Stepping out of the bathroom, Dick spotted Jason in a thick, tan jacket with a red motorcycle helmet tucked under his hand. Jason called for Dick to exit the house with a flick of his wrist.

A large motorcycle leaned outside of the door. The body was black with red accents that same shade as Jason's helmet. Turning, Dick saw Jason's shoulder twitch. Instinctively Dick held out his arms, catching a circular object. The helmet had the same design as Jason's only it was in a bright shade of pink with the word 'princess' scrawled across the back in a glittery font. Dick looked up, raising his eyebrow questioningly.

"Roy's helmet," Jason offered as if that explained everything.

Dick tilted his head, rolling the helmet between his arms. Jason directed, "Put it on, or walk it's your choice."

Jason pulled his on. Then, he swung his leg over the side of the bike to mount it. He teasingly revved the engine as a threat. His right leg remained firmly planted on the ground. Dick tugged the pink helmet on and hopped on behind Jason. As Jason kicked off, Dick clung to the rumbling machine with his thighs.

Jason reached back, guiding Dick's hands to his waist. Dick obeyed more for formality than anything else. His fingers rested on Jason's hips. The wind whipped through Dick's jacket, lifting it up. Where his skin was exposed, a brisk breeze kissed Dick. Overcome with a sense of nostalgia, he wished that he wasn't wearing a helmet. He closed his eyes imagining the wind dancing through his hair. He opened his eyes. The city zoomed by, a gray blur.

Gripping the sides of the motorcycle firmly with his thighs, Dick raised his arms. They formed a straight line that the wind attempted to push down. He rolled along with the bike's movements and the wind caressed his body. As they sped down the street, Dick felt like he was gliding through the air. Honks honked at him. The obstructive, irritating to eardrums noise cannot ruin this for him. A bittersweet burst of homesickness combined with savory, adrenaline-spiked, excitement to flood his system. Dick felt alive.

 _“Little robin, in a few years you’ll be up there, too.”_

_His nightmares had given him that memory back at least. It wasn’t all blood and murder. My…_

He let the word escape his mind with the whistling wind. 

Nothing was going to ruin this moment. 

A mashed up sound reached Dick's ears. Jason tapped Dick's thigh, pinching it roughly. He grabbed Jason's sides and they stopped at a red light. Jason flipped up the visor.

"What the fuck are you thinking? Are you trying to tempt the Devil? Or to give me a heart attack?"

Now that he was looking for it. Dick picked up Jason's racing heartbeat: **Ba, ba, ba, ba.** Shifting his line of sight, Dick noticed that Jason's fingers were trembling on the handles. Dick blinked and realized, I scared him.

Dick ducked his head, focusing on the small of Jason's back. The prickling sensation of guilt scaled his throat. He barely managed to vocalize an apology before the lights shifted green.

Directing one of Dick's hands to his waist, Jason growled, "Keep your hands on me at all times."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: An anxiety attack and dissociation.
> 
> This chapter was kind of rough. I was planning on finishing my revision of the next chapter to tone it down but I ran out of time. I hope y'all still enjoyed this.


	9. Chirm

Jason parked his motorcycle between two closely parked cars. The best part of a bike was that it fit in two dozen and one spaces that cars couldn’t dare dream of. Turning off the engine, Jason glanced down at the long fingers still curled above his waist. He exhaled slowly. His heart thudded at the memory of Robin's earlier antics.

Unhooking his helmet, Jason held out his arm exaggeratedly."The ground awaits."

Robin-

_**Dick**_ , Jason mentally corrected himself.

Dick shuffled off. His head pointed at the cracked asphalt. Shaking his head slightly, Jason had a feeling that Dick’s eyes were downcast. Jason pointed at Dick’s helmet. Jason gestured for Dick to remove his helmet. Swinging his leg off the bike, Jason rolled the helmet under his arm. He popped his seat up and stored the helmets. Applying pressure on the leather, Jason double checked that it locked properly. Jason walked past Dick. A prickle of guilt prodded Jason's gut.

Arguing with his emotions, Jason countered, _It's common sense not to let go when on a motorcycle._

_That doesn’t mean you get to snap at him._ His emotions fired back.

Tucking his thumbs into his belt loops, Jason sighed. Preaching was always easier than talking. He gave Robin, Dick, another once-over, taking the downward inclination of Dick's head.

Jason's brain interjected, _You took him out so you make him feel better. Just suck it up. Hold off on the seriousness for an hour or two. Jason - you can pretend nothing’s wrong for an hour._

_I wonder how Jer put up with me_ , Jason wondered, briefly.

Stopping to face Dick, Jason said, “Hey. Sorry. That probably came off harsher than I intended but -”

Swallowing, he corrected his rationalizations, "I'm not angry at you. I’m sorry. I reacted without explaining anything. My bad."

Rob- Dick inclined his head. His blue eyes darted across Jason's face carefully. His shoulders straightened out. He rose to his full height which fell short of Jason's nose. His head tilted to the side with a curious look etched into his face, a confused expression.

Jason tacked on, "You surprised me that's all."

He began with a brittle quirk of his lips. "You're not angry, so. . ."

"I’d rather you keep all your limbs on my watch." Jason smirked.

_This is Gotham not some Hollywood movie or the countryside. A car’s gonna take your arm off._

Rabbit hole, he warned his conscious.

“Anyway, brought you to my usual thrift because I don’t what you like,” Jason said.

He turned and began to walk off. He noticed that Dick’s shadow didn’t move. Jason stopped mid-step, swallowing the syllables for Robin. 

"Come on, Dick."

Some words linger on the tip of your tongue, refusing to take form. Others storm your vocal cords, attempting to escape from your mind. For now, Robin was the latter. At the minimum, he could respect Dick's choice and not vocally fuck up. He mentally repeated the name in his head. Jason checked that Dick still followed him up the sidewalk.

A red and blue light hung in the corner of a large window welcoming Jason and Dick into the slightly crumbling, rectangular, brick box. Several micro-cracks lined the glass. The bell rung as Jason opened the door. He held it for Dick to enter before following in. Clothes filled fourth-fifths of the store. A handwritten sign directed to the men's section on the left and the women's on the right. One corner, by the counter, contained miscellaneous knickknacks: board games, lamps, and other small items.

Pointing to the left side with his thumb, Jason commented, "Look 'round. I need to talk to the owner and then I'll catch up with you."

"Jason!" the shopkeeper greeted.

His eyes formed crescents, complimenting his smile. Despite his russet brown complexion, Jason always saw Chien-Po in that expression. His smile showed slightly yellowed teeth. The faint smell of methanols waffled off of him. Jason's throat itched and his tongue recalled the taste. Jason smiled.

"Nice to see you too, Jon.”

“Don’t be stranger, Jay,” Jon chided.

Rustling drew his attention up. Flicking his eyes behind the counter, an oversized teen appeared. The words Jon's Thrift pressed on his left breast pocket. His eyes widened at the sight of Jason. He nearly matched Jason inch for inch despite that his eyes didn’t meet Jason’s.

"Morning, Father Todd," the teen greeted, half-mumbling.

"Good morning, Gabriel. How are you?" Jason greeted, fixing his posture.

His gaze still lingering on the ground, he said, "Good. I'm volunteering at the church 'morrow."

"Are you helping Maria and Bishop with the kids?" Jason asked, keeping his voice light and friendly, "They'll be glad for the help."

"Gabe," Jon interrupted, "fix the women's clothes."

Gabriel bobbed his head. His actions energetic compared to his fixed stare.

“Bye, Father.”

As he scurried away like an escapee, Jason asked, "How's he?"

"Gabe?"

He gestured in Gabe’s direction. Gabriel’s circled the area like a hawk zoning in a prairie mouse. With a swooping motion, Gabriel corrected the position of each item.

“You can see yourself.” Jon rested his chin on his fist. “He seems to be picking up side jobs though.”

"I’m guessing you can’t afford to give him a few more hours," Jason sighed. He bit his lips. Resting on the counter, he leaned his weight onto his forearms. The space between the two men shortened.

Jon shrugged. “Life’s rough ‘round here, you know it Jay. One battle at a time.”

"About that, I got a bunch of blankets with your name on them," Jon recalled, pointing to the curtained-off back room.

"How much do I owe you?"

He reached into his pocket. He dug around the lint-collectors for his wallet. When Jason grazed the synthetic leather material, Jon held his palm up to gesture Jason to stop.

Staring at Jon's sandy eyes, Jason warned, "Jon."

"Consider it a donation," Jon pushed, "it's getting colder."

"Yeah."

His skin pricked at the memory how to the morning air bit into his sides.

Pushing away the image of ash, Jason stated, "I need to start leaving blankets on the pews at night."

Jon’s eyes smiled with his lips. He straightened up and leaned forward. He reached out and patted Jason on the head. In response, Jason tilted his head, questioningly.

"You got Jerry's kindness," Jon commented with a softness to his voice akin to the sound of people recounting their youth or life-long dreams.

Jason shook his head. His right hand tapped his cross. His lips turned down at the corners and his shoulders shrank in.

"He raised you. You act just like him."

Jason flush a warmth around his collar and ears. Dropping his eyes to the counter, Jason muttered, "Thanks."

Jon pointed to Jason's left. "You better help your **mister**. He hasn't moved since you got here."

"Hm?" Jason muttered, glancing at Dick's frozen back.

Catching Jon's attention, Jason questioned, "my _mister?_ "

"You know," Jon inflected, gesturing vulgarly. His brows moved up suggestively as he repeated, "Your **_mister_**."

It clicked. Jason corrected, "I'm not seeing him."

Jon shook his head.

“Won’t hurt you to entertain the idea of fun, sometimes, Jason.”

The phantom vibrations of a phone buzzed in his ears. Jason felt his pulse thud heavily. He swallowed. _Yes, it will._

Scanning Dick, Jon continued, "You say that, but you have a type."

"Type?" _My type?_

The brown eyes lit up with excitement. Jason immediately regretted feeding Jon's delusions. The man shifted closer. Jason inhaled and braced himself.

Jon whispered, conspiratorially, "Yes, a type. Roy and him are a bit rough round the edges but fix up well. All he needs is a bit a color and fat on him and he’d be pretty easy on the eyes. You need to share where you pick them up."

Jason stepped away from the counter. He pressed his hand to his chest exaggeratedly. His brow cocked judgmentally.

He stage-whispered, "Should I tell Marcus about this?"

Jon mock hissed, "Whose car will you borrow if you do?"

“Marcus’s.”

“Your clothes?”

"True, true." Jason laughed taking a few strides in Dick's direction.

He teased, "I guess I need to wait until I find another shop before I turn you in."

"I'm just window shopping."

Jason turned on his heel, closing the space between Rob- Dick and him. Dick looked up, eyes blank. Jason asked, "Don't see anything you like?"

Dick's hands were empty. The racks of clothes hung unperturbed. Dick mouthed the words and rubbed his temple: _I like._ His creased brow suggested that repetition had a different inflection.

"I don't remember what I used to wear."

Jason blinked, taken back by Dick's response. Jason saw in his mind's eye the ground opening up and swallowing whole. His emotions lamented, How scary and startling to not know what you like.

Robin's small, unsteady voice suddenly made complete sense: _I don't want to go away._ Jason's heart ached. The sudden overwhelming urge to hug Dick tugged at his arms.

The phantom of his past paled at the realization. The shadow of his youth simultaneously imposed itself on and shrank away from his image of Dick. The man from urban myth became Dick.

Jason considered, _Shit. My life was shit, but. . . Not knowing what I like. . . How can you even understand yourself if you don’t. . . Not knowing who I was . . ._

For the first time, Dick's instances of irritability, paranoia, and unease didn't seem out there. Jason sympathized, _I don't know if I could handle that. Fuck, having someone refuse to give me answers... treating me based on not what they knew about me but rumors they heard-_

Jason drew in air, exhaling sharply. _In retrospect, I've been kinda an asshole to him._

_Sort of?_ his conscious, sounding a lot like Jer, nudged.

Doing the emotional equivalent of rolling his eyes, Jason edited, _A complete asshole._

"Well," Jason mumbled, "What does the current you like?"

"Current me?" Dick whispered. His sky blue eyes clouded over with confusion.

Jason pulled his left shoulder up in the approximation of a shrug. Jason rephrased, "Yeah, what does the current you want?"

His face scrunched up as he analyzed the row of shirts in front of him. The hangers clinked together as Dick pushed the shirts from side to side. The exact same three tees moved from right to left every few seconds. A look of intense soul-searching seemed to twist Robin's lips into a frown.

Jason coughed, "Probably should've worded that better. You don't have to already know, figure out what you enjoy as you go."

Jason tugged two plain shirts off the rack, holding them up for Dick to see. The one on his right was a reddish-orange that reminded Jason of Roy's hair. The left one matched Dick's eyes. Jason asked, "To start off, is there any colors you like or not?"

Robin, Dick, shifted away from Jason to get a better perspective. Almost reflexively, Dick hissed, "Not red."

"That's a start," Jason encouraged, "we'll ignore everything that's red. You can try stuff on to figure out what type of fit you like."

_He must hate borrowing my clothes,_ Jason realized. Whites, blacks and grays comprised his entire wardrobe. The only elements of color were red unless blue jeans counted as a color. Considering how faded his were, probably not.

Observing Dick, Jason mentally calculated his budget. Taking into account the weather, Jason suggested, "We can start off with a few plain shirts, a couple of long sleeves, maybe a handful with designs or patterns, at least two pairs of jeans or pants, one good jacket, and some sets of PJs. We can get you socks and underpants in bulk at some department store later. That sound good?"

Dick nodded, turning to shuffle through the rack. Trying not to be overbearing, Jason watched for the most part. Every now and then, he'd chip in his opinion or share a garment he thought fit Dick. Otherwise, he simply watched over Dick as he rummaged through the second-hand clothes.

“34 dollars,” Jon said.

Jason opened his mouth.

“Family discount,” Jon cut him off.

Jason handed over forty-five. Pointedly he reached over to grab the bags. Jon sighed and put the money in the register.

“Marcus will drop off the blankets later.”

* * *

At every turn and stop, Jason checked that Dick wasn’t doing a repeat performance of his crazy stunt. The ten-minute ride felt like twenty with his nerves on edge. When Dick adjusted his grip, Jason nearly had a heart attack. Parking near the entrance of the Walmart, Jason hopped off the bike. He turned to store his helmet.

Pausing, Jason teased, “Get off, slowpoke.” 

Dick nodded slowly. Removing his helmet, he rubbed his ears. He absentmindedly handed Jason the helmet. Jason stored their items under the seat.

He headed in the direction of the store, walking briskly. He glanced back and noticed Dick lagging behind. Walking backward, Jason joked, “Hurry up, Snorlax.”

A moment later, Dick nodded and quickened his pace. 

Entering Walmart felt like leaving reality. Jason swore that it was a liminal space. Time warped inside these type of stores, passing slower inside than out. Either the place brimmed with people or no soul could be seen.

At this moment, the store teemed with bodies. Jason stepped into the spaces between them. He leveraged his considerable size to forge a path. In the men’s section of the clothing store, Jason turned to search for Dick. Nearly knocking into him, Jason began to joke --

His gut shouted, _Something is wrong._

Jason narrowed his eyes. Dick stood like a statue. His face fixed into a flat expression. Jason tilted his head, questioning his gut. His gaze was drawn to Dick’s thigh. Dick’s fingers steadily tapped out a beat: three, six, nine.

Recognizing the pattern, Jason connected the dots. _Shit, I fucked up. He seemed pretty unwilling to come here._

“Hey,” Jason whispered, “You can wait outside while I buy the stuff if you want.”

Reflexively, Jason mocked himself, “You’ll have to deal with my shitty tastes though.”

Dick nodded. He turned. He disappeared into the crowd.

_Boxer, undershirts, and hair ties_ , Jason remembered.

Jason thought, _After I’m done, we’ll eat out. But where?_

* * *

Watching the growing mound of peanut shells on their laminated wood table, Jason knew he made the right choice to bring Dick to Five Guys. Jason wasn't much of a fast food guy. They all tasted pretty much the same to him. He could survive off greasy fast food or scraps rummaged out of the dumpster, but if he had a choice, he'd eat a home-cooked meal any day. When it came to fast food, Five Guys always appeared in his thoughts first because of Roy shit his pants every time Jason said it had better burgers than In-N-Out. He’d never been there, but that wasn’t going to stop Jason from getting a rise out of Roy.

For Dick, it seemed just right as the shells formed a mountain by Dick's wrist. The pile grew at such a rate that Jason began to suspect Dick just inhaled them. A mountain range formed between Jason and Dick. At this pace, Jason wondered if the food would make it here before Dick filled himself with the nuts.

Staring at the checkered red and white tiles, Jason did mental accounting. Jon had been surprisingly generous despite Jason's protests, giving them the employee's discount. Their shopping yielded six plain shirts, mostly in shades of blue, same went for the three long sleeves, two striped quarter sleeves, and one flannel. In second place were black shirts with a burst of color and patterned-prints. Dick seemed to prefer tighter fitting clothes opting mostly for yoga pants and other leg-hugging pants or comfortable sweatpants. He picked one pair of low-slung jeans at Jason's insistence.

Stopping by a department store on their way here meant Dick had enough box-briefs, socks, tank tops, and undershirts to last the week. The best clothing necessities were taken care of, at least for this season. When seasons changed, Jason would worry about that later. Gotham experienced all four seasons, unlike some places Jason had heard of. Well, at least four not accounting for the erratic weather resulting from a villain. Gotham had six or seven if you counted fear gas periods outside of fall or the other habitual weirdness that the baddies inflicted.

Shoes, although practical, were a concern he'd think about later. His wallet felt light enough for the day. For now, the scuffled up remnants of the Talon uniform worked. Jason pondered, _Can I even find shoes like that 'round here?_

Flicking his attention to the person in front of him, Jason also recalled how Dick seemed to subconsciously avoid gold or bronze accents. Swallowing, his mind turned to the skin-tight uniform he'd discovered Dick in. Only bronze-colored knife sheaths interrupted the sleek blackness of the bodysuit. The shoes were indiscreet black things that conformed tightly to Dick's feet, better than any store-brand shoe ever would.

_Maybe I better scavenge the money to get Dick a different pair. . ._

He blinked. _When did he stop being the Talon?_

_When did he become just Dick?_

"How's it?" Jason asked, pointing at the burger on Dick's tray.

The lopsided buns more or less were complete except for a single bite. On the other hand, the fries seemed to have vanished into thin air. The pile of peanut shells seemed to grow even after the main attraction arrived. Popping a fry in his mouth, the corners of Dick's mouth edged up.

He commented, "Tastes familiar."

"Five Guys are pretty much everywhere," Jason replied, taking a bite out of his mostly ignored cheeseburger. Last he remembered, the place was spreading from coast to coast much to Roy’s chagrin.

The gooey cheese oozed into his mouth mixing in with the juices of the patty. From his periphery, he saw Dick eyed the food. Removing the peanuts shells with one hand, he tossed a few peanuts into the air before catching them in his mouth. A playful, open action that seemed strange coming from the skittish person Jason had known so far. As he chewed, a whimsical light brightened his eyes.

"I like peanuts," Dick declared, tacking on, "The peanuts are familiar, not Five Guys."

_Peanuts. Acrobat. Circus._ Jason connected the dots.

Withholding that commentary, Jason questioned, "Well, do you like them? Or the burger you got?"

"I guess so," Dick stated as he shoved three fries into his mouth, "it's the first burger and fries I remember eating. I can't compare it to anything."

An out-of-place pride swelled up in Jason’s chest. Dick began to see himself just as Jason saw the shape of Dick carving itself out of the remains of Talon. Once completely overlapping circles, now they were Venn diagrams. Jason wondered if they would never be completely separate in his mind.

"You've got all the time in the world to taste really cruddy stuff, enjoy the decent food while I can still afford it.”

Subtracting the meal from his monthly splurge expenses, Jason sighed. They'd gotten through what would've been two weeks of Jason's food in a little less than a week. Sooner or later, Jason needed to balance his books and set up budget meant to support to two people.

"I thought you said you had extra money this month.”

Jason returned, "I do. Gotta think 'bout next month: bills, food, you know anything else so we can live comfortably."

"Next month?" Dick echoed, dropping a fry into a bath of ketchup.

"Yeah, next month," Jason repeated, knitting his eyebrows together, "You didn't think I'd kick you out at the end of the month, did you?"

"Well," Dick mumbled.

Dick dropped his gaze, diverting his attention to a strip of onion that escaped his burger. A fry chased it around the red tray into a glob of mustard. He used the fry to scoop it up and into his mouth.

Jason breathed in, slowly, taking the time to sort his words. Shifting into a more serious tone, he commented, "You're free welcome to stay as long as you want, but you have to pull your weight around after a while."

"Where’d you go anyway? I don't want that hanging over my head," Jason said, reflexively.

Jason cursed his nervous reflex. _It sounded awful. Like I think he’s a burden._

Dick's mouth popped into an 'o' before he doubled-down on eating his food. Jason followed suit, focusing his attention on dimming his stack of Cajun fries. The hand-cut wedges disappeared into Jason's stomach until the only things on his tray were white wrappers and sand grain sized crumbs. How to salvage the situation?

Stretching his arms above his head, Jason asked, "Are you up for grocery shopping with me or do you want to head home?"

"Which one is easier for you?"

"I'm the one asking you a question," Jason lightly huffed, but planned, _Food it is. We could both use some more time outta the house._

Jason made a mental note to check his cabinet later. With two mouths to feed and a small salary, he had to better plan his meals among other things. He slightly regretted not accepting Emily's help earlier this week. His pride was healthy but his wallet stung.

* * *

Staring at his ceiling, he definitely had to budget by Monday. Maybe it was his good mood but Jason allowed Dick to pick up several snacks to try in addition to three different brands of cereal. If he kept letting Dick twist him around his little finger, Jason would be broke by Tuesday.

His inner child protested, _It's a crime not to let someone try Cool Ranch Doritos or Snickers or . . ._

_A kid’s got to get his snacks,_ Jer chuckled, indulgently from his memories. 

Creaking outside his door interrupted that train of thought. Glancing in front of him, Dick stood in his newly acquired pj's. Unlike his day clothes, the sleeping attire hung loosely on Dick's frame for most people it would be normal. After shopping with Dick for a day, the excess fabric seemed to consume Dick. Jason observed Dick's eyes darting between the bed and the ground. Tracing that action, he realized he'd allowed a set of pillows and blankets collapse to the floor. Shifting into a sitting position, Jason reached the items, tugging them closer to the bed.

"You're welcome to join me if you want or take the floor, whichever is more comfortable for you."

Tucking himself in, Jason turned toward the wall. Shifting closer to the wall, Jason left behind a Dick-sized vacancy. From the soft thump on near the dresser, Dick chose the floor. A rustling of blankets later, Jason closed his eyes and followed the Sandman's call.

Jason nearly rammed into the wall. Resonating vibrations suggested the intensity of his knee-jerk reaction. The sudden chill of Dick touching his back surprised him. The sensation reminded Jason of brain freeze but to his skin. Suppressing the urge to pull away, he waited for Dick to settle into the mattress. A few moments later, it felt like Dick was trying to bury his face in Jason's side. An elbow dug into his waist and a chin jabbed his shoulder blades. Jason flipped over, observing Dick's sleeping face.

_Is he actually sleeping?_ Jason wondered. Considering how often he jolted awake when Jason entered or how his ears picked up Roy's escape attempt, maybe he was pretending to be asleep.

Dick wiggled, tucking his face into the nook formed by Jason's shoulder and neck. Jason bit down a swear word as Dick's face grazed him. In the dark, he faintly noticed the slight redness of Dick's ears. Jason smiled and closed his eyes.

On the days that the eyes scared him out of bed, encouraging Jason to seek refuge in Jerome's room, Jason first would curl on the floor. As the night grew deeper and it Jer stopped watching him, he'd lean on the side of the bed. The proximity reminded him that he wasn't alone. On the bad nights, when the eyes followed him into the room, Jason would crawl under the covers. Hiding from his mama's blue glassed over eyes, he turned toward Jer. Faking sleep to hide his embarrassment as he balled himself up tightly against the older man.

Jason tossed his arm over Dick's side, ignoring the chill. After a few minutes, the gooseflesh faded. Dick sunk closer to Jason's chest. Jason's eyes grew heavy. Their temperatures evened out, reaching equilibrium. The comfortable warmth allowed Jason drifted back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, I am at the end of my revision buffer so that's mildly terrifying. I am running a D&D oneshot next week so the next chapter might be late - I'll try to do it still tho. (I wonder if anyone has figured out the chapter title theming yet).


	10. Congregation

Dick rolled over, searching for an absent heat source. Reaching out, his fingers met nothing but air. Running his hand across the bed, the blankets and pillows molded to his digits. Inhaling sharply, slumber fled his mind. Dick sat up, scanning the area. The patter of water pinpointed Jason's location, the bathroom. Relaxing slightly, Dick's shoulders jumped, drawing inwards. Dick bit the inside of cheek.

 _I don't. . ._ His thought trailed off as the words flew from his mind.

The steady thudding of Jason's heart briefly buzzed in Dick's ears. That comforting sound along with his presence left Dick off-kilo. His heart pulsed uneasily in his chest as if trying to shake off his emotions. The concept sat on his throat, slinking down from his brain stem. The slippery beast lost its form on its way to his vocal cords. He felt the idea but couldn't name it.

The degrees of difference between dislike and hate too slight for someone who only clearly remembered the last five days of his life. _Dislike_ and _hate_ were meaningless, subtle, fanciful concepts. He only knew how it felt. The emotional residue formed a second skin, creating an unpleasant crawling sensation. It was akin to an army of ants lining up on his flesh. He knew for sure he didn't like this emotion. Beyond that, attaching a word to this feeling. . .

Dick blew out a stream of air. Running his tongue along his dry lips, he shook his head. The memory of red colored dream clung to his eyelids. He pressed his fingers against the side of his head out of mild frustration. His brain was a computer with a glitch-prone hard-drive, CPU leak, and limited RAM.

_I don’t like **having** to depend on Jason._

Squishing his face, Dick roughly massaged his head. Blood pulsed through his temples, encouraging a headache. His brain supplemented, _How is it any different from when you were their weapon?_

_Who are they?_

Images of dark rooms and rows of silent, faceless men accompanied the last word. The throb increased intensely, drumming his mind. It discouraged his probing. Dick frowned, forming a crease in the middle of his forehead. Dick cupped his head in his hands, massaging away the pain. It redoubled at his effort to penetrate the dark haze of his memory.

_Dark nights, glass eyes, splattered blood._

Escaping these thoughts, Dick stood up and left the room. As his senses woke up, Dick stilled. He picked the hush murmurs of Jason’s voice. His back to Dick. Jason held a phone in one hand and leaned on his dinner table with the other.

“Thank you again, Bishop, for helping out,” Jason said warmly.

“No worries. I understand this month is always rough for you.”

Jason cleared his throat.

“I heard you have your _hands_ full with someone too.”

Jason groaned, “Not you too.”

“Oh, you know about the betting pool?” 

“Jon. Again.”

“You heard nothing for me.” 

The dial tone appeared. 

Jason turned around. He jumped. 

“Shit, stop doing that,” he muttered under his breath. "Morning, cereal's under the counter, milk's in the fridge or I've got bagels. You can help yourself to eggs if you something warm."

"Are you going somewhere?" Dick questioned, inclining his head.

At the doorway, Jason wore a set of slightly worn at the knees jeans and a long sleeve shirt of similar use. The last two days the only outfits that Dick saw Jason in where his clergy garments, his PJs, and a set of a plain white tee and fitted jeans. This combination of clothes didn't fit in any of the previous categories.

"Abuela needs some help with her garden," Jason explain, jogging to his dresser, "I'll be back by 2-3 for lunch."

He glanced at Dick briefly before scavenging through his drawers for socks. Gesturing in the general area of his closet, Jason suggested, "You're free to use my laptop or dig through my books. I'll be down the street if you need me. You'll know the house when you see it."

“Don’t make too big of a mess,” Jason chuckled, sounding almost nervous.

After the door closed, Dick stood up. He skimmed over the stacks of worn paperbacks: East of Eden, Pride and Prejudice, Sherlock Holmes Collection, Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, and such. The books sat next to a cardboard box from which a set of arrows peeked out. Tilting his head up, he noted the laptop case stored beside a few small square boxes. He grabbed the laptop and paused.

The dust sat unevenly on the boxes lining the bottom. Two different patterns of disruption. A fraction of him wanted to search the closet for whatever item Jason wanted to hide from him. _I have all morning._ Dick headed into the kitchen. Cereal prepped and the laptop booted up. He opened a browser and typed into the search bar a single name: Dick Grayson.

* * *

Closing the plastic laptop monitor, Dick dropped his spoon into the empty bowl. A box of cereal sat at his right elbow and milk at his left side. The dining table wobbled, threatening to tip the laptop over. Pinning the rectangular device down with his palm, he leaned into the seat.

Unhelpful was searching Dick Grayson. The boy lived such a short life. Only thirteen years under his belt, the only mark the circus child seemed to leave was on the stage. The records of his existence that Dick found were an obituary, promotions featuring the Flying Graysons, and articles covering his parents' and then his tragic death.

Closing his eyes, Dick tried to imagine the wooden pole between his fingers, his body swinging through the air, and the sound of an audience. _Radio noise - just out of his reach._ He opened his eyes and frowned. Staring at a picture of the smiling boy dressed in blue. The details of that boy’s life felt vaguely familiar in the same way the name did.

It was like being thrown into the middle of the ocean and then realizing you knew how to swim. The sensation of treading water clenching your heart, even though you are swimming. Just as suddenly as you knew how to swim, it felt like you would forget. Dick rubbed his face, blinking slowly. Regardless of what Jason told him, not knowing who you are is like being on the trapeze without a safety net.

Tapping his fingers along his lap in groups of threes, Dick breathed carefully, a proactive measure. Opening the laptop, he searched his symptoms: shortness of breath, paranoia, nerves, nightmares, difficulty sleeping. Several mental disorders flashed up in the monitor. He clicked several of the links, settling in to compare the lists of symptoms.

A terse half hour later, he drummed his fingers next to the keyboard. Nothing fix perfectly, but his memory loss may have been a factor. If he had to say one, anxiety fit best, but his reactions seemed extremer than those listed. To him, he simply felt broken. He closed his eyes and said to himself, _Anxiety._

The term fit uneasily in his heart. A disconnect existed between him and that concept. It didn't right, but nothing felt right. All his experiences fit into five now six days. Who he was, what he knew, and how he felt were all murky illusions. Inhaling sharply, he realized that he alone. From the way his nerves wormed and squirmed, that was not a good idea.

_Jason's voice echoed, "I'll be down the street if you need me."_

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Dick closed his eyes. Drumming on his thigh, he mentally stood between a rock and a hard place. The overwhelming wave of anxiety hovered over the horizon cornering him on his dependence on Jason's presence. Hissing, he powered off the laptop. Jumping to his feet, he headed toward the bedroom. He rocked on his heels.

_I'd rather cling to a rock than drown._

Digging a pair of yoga pants from the drawer Jason freed up for him, Dick quickly changed. In three minutes, he headed down the street, physically running away from his emotions. Skimming the street, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up akin to the hackles on a cat. _Someone is watching me!_

He quickened his pace and squared his shoulders. Then the gaze disappeared as a voice called out to him. Looking to his left, he almost passed Jason who was knee deep in foliage trimmings. He leaned his arms on a rake. Behind him, Mrs. Andrade knelt in front of the garden. She wore a knee-length skirt and a long sleeve shirt. A long-brimmed hat covered half her face. She waved at Dick. Turning to scan the horizon, he shifted back to face the two.

His body stilled. His mind transported back through time.

_Dick watched Dr. Thompkins put the CT scan through a shredder. His attention divided between her and the two outside the room._

_“Jason. He’s a Gray-”_

_“Yeah.”_

_Mrs. Andrade finished, “Isn’t he?”_

_“I see,” her whisper slipped into a low octave and she chuckled, “I see. No se pueden pedirle peras al olmo. Mi arrendajo guardián. [5]”_

A high pitched series of noises drew his attention to the present. Jason opened the metal mesh gate, gesturing for Dick to enter. Pointing toward the house with the tip of the rake, Jason commented, "The house was easy to find wasn't it?"

A high pitched series of noises drew his attention to the present. Jason opened the metal mesh gate, gesturing for Dick to enter. Pointing toward the house with the tip of the rake, Jason commented, "The house was easy to find wasn't it?"

Dick blinked, observing the house. The dull brown and white house was a squat, one-story rectangle. A few shingles hanging off the edge of the roof and the micro-cracks on the walls were like other four or five houses on this side of the street. Other than a better-maintained garden out front, there was no difference.

Dick shrugged.

"Hello," Mrs. Andrade greeted, "Did you come to help?"

She held up a pair of small pliers in her gloved hands.

"Abuela! He barely came and you already want to work him to the bone."

"Mijo," she scolded lightly, taking away the bite with a soft, "I am asking Robin, not you."

Dick exchanged glances with Jason. The line of his jaw tightened. His gaze flicked between Mrs. Andrade and Dick nervously. He sighed. Using the back of his hand to brush his fringe from his face, Jason set his mouth in a determined line.

Injecting on his behalf, Jason corrected, "His name is Dick. Robin was a nickname."

Dick noticed that Jason’s chest stopped moving. He translated the breath holding to nerves. Dick clenched his jaw and felt his emotions syncing up with Jason’s.

"Okay, Dick," she said, pointing at Jason, "Take the rake and clean up. Jasoncito[6], come and help me." 

Both Jason and Dick exhaled and the tension in the air dissipate. Transiting into a standing position, Jason handed the rake to Dick. Jason walked to a different patch of the lawn before kneeling in the dirt. Dick's eyes darted between their figures and the bushes that loomed over them, stopping short of the house's windows. Small yellow, orange, and redbuds filled the bush.

"Rose brushes," Mrs. Andrade answered a question that Dick had not asked.

"They are why people call me Rosa." 

A fondness filled her voice. She reached up to touch the bush, the leaves shook slightly.

Jason nodded and added, "Regardless of dry seasons or annoying crooks, you can trust that Abuelita's roses will be there every year." 

"I grew them with my mama. My mama grew them with her mama."

She shifted in the dirt, tugging cutting out small offshoots of the brush. Jason worked quietly next to her, tugging out leafy plants. Dick dragged the rake across the grass, gathering small branches and weeds in a neat pile. The repetitive motion distracting him from his earlier potential, earlier overflow.

* * *

Glancing at the sky, the sun sat pass the midway point. Noon had passed long ago, but pruning and yard cleaning had kept Dick's mind busy. The sweet and spicy mole on rice was delicious lunch bonus. He placed on hand on the gate, turning to check for Jason who stood halfway between Dick and the front the stout house.

"I'll see you tomorrow at service," Jason waved at Mrs. Andrade, spinning to face the street.

"No, no," she quickly scolded. Hopping off the steps, she walked up to Jason until there were only a few inches between them. A weighted plastic bag swung at her side. Jason stepped back.

"Mijo," she warned, holding the bag up, "for your help."

"Thanks." Taking the bag, Jason gave the bag a cursory glance and smiled. "Tomatoes. Thank you." 

As Jason attempted to leave again, she cleared her throat pointedly. Holding open her arms, she said, "Jasoncito."

Placing the tomatoes by his feet, he leaned down to give her a hug. When she kissed one of his cheeks, he copied the motion on the other cheek. Picking up the bags, he softly said, "Goodbye, Abuelita."

A few moments later, Jason joined Dick at the gate and down the street. Peeking back, Dick's eyes darted from the bag of tomatoes to Jason's face. Curiosity sat on the tip of his tongue. 

Dick asked, "Is Mrs. Andrade your grandmother?" 

Jason shook his head, running his free hand through his hair. 

"She basically helped raise half the block, kept an eye on us when the other adults were busy."

"I grew up two blocks over. She apparently babysat me before my family moved when I was about six." Jason pulled his shoulders up, uncertainly before continuing, "She definitely kept me out of hot water after Jer picked me up."

He paused. Facing Dick, Jason stated, "I keep telling you to just call her Abuela Rosa. Just about everyone on this block does. Most of us don't even remember her first name."

"What is it?" Dick inquired.

"Um...," Jason hummed, tilting his head uncertainly toward the sky, "It's. . . I know it's a biblical name. Not Eva or Teresa."

Jason snapped his fingers. "Mary! Maria! It's Maria, but no one when calls her that. I am pretty sure even her grandkids call her Abuela Rosa."

Jason lifted his elbow to read his wristwatch. His gem-like eyes narrowed. His lips pulled in as he chewed on them. Jason said, "It's 2:30. We have to hurry home so I can have enough time to cook and eat before I prep for Saturday Service."

Spinning on his heels, Jason briskly marched toward the church, tomatoes swung wildly at his side. His feet formed a rushed beat on the concrete. Dick followed easily behind him. Only falling behind, when he obeyed his instinct to scan the horizon. His muscles tensed as he turned to follow Jason to the house. He periodically looked to the sky as his gut told him something was off.

The sensation faded when they entered the house. Jason quickly deposited the bag of tomatoes on the dining room table. Dashing to his room, Jason grabbed clothes before heading into the shower. In the middle of Jason's mad dash, Dick observed the room. His sixth sense itched.

Entering the bedroom, Dick snagged Jason's laptop. Briefly scanning the room, he headed into the living room. Placing the machine on the coffee table, Dick sat on the edge of the couch. Tapping his feet, he waited for the screen to boot and quickly searched paranoia and anxiety. The first site that appeared was Wikipedia. Scrolling down, he opened the next seven results.

Stiffening, Dick heard Jason circle the coffee table. Leaning, he glanced at the laptop screen and then at Dick. Plopping onto the couch, Dick heard Jason's heart nervously pattering: ba-Ba-bum.

"Paranoia and anxiety?"

 _Someone's watching me,_ Dick's gut answered.

That sounded, well, paranoid and crazy in the same way 'I am not real' did. Before vocalizing his concerns, he'd like a moment to stew in them, a chance to think it through. 

Dick fibbed, "I wanted to understand my nightmares."

"Oh," Jason's mouth popped into a circle, "You should consider looking up coping techniques or calling Roy and seeing if he knows someone discrete is always an option."

 _Why do they have to be discrete? Are my concerns justified? Is it paranoia if it is real?_

Dick thought of the strange presence he sensed outside. 

"I will keep it in mind," Dick said, closing the conversation.

Pushing himself off the couch, Jason asked, "Do you have a problem with chili? Abuela Rosa gave us a ton of tomatoes so we might as well use them."

"Six days," Dick reminded Jason.

"Oh, right. I guess we'll know when you try it."

Close to four-thirty, the room filled the hearty scent of beans, beef, and spices. Dick's stomach responded by growling. Combing his hair away from his face, Jason chuckled. Pointing to the kitchen with his comb, Jason declared, "You're welcome to eat. I'll join you in a second."

Ladling the chunky, stew-like food into a bowl, Dick sat in his usual seat. He placed a spoonful into his mouth. The chili certainly tasted substantial with the texture of the beans and ground beef. Swallowing, the back of his mouth heated up. Digging through the chili, he saw thinly chopped, orange skin of a habanero pepper.

The ground protested as Jason pulled his chair open. Sitting across from Dick, Jason held a bowl of chili in one hand and a small container in the other. Dick's eyes widened when he realized it was more chopped pepper. Jason sprinkled it on like black pepper and mixed it in. He ate the meal like it was mild.

Pushing the palm-sized container across the table, Jason asked, "Want some?"

Dick shook his head. The current-level of heat was pleasant and tolerable, adding more seemed like a mild form of torture.

"Is it too spicy for you?" Jason inquired, eying Dick's chili with a worried expression.

"No."

"Okay good. I wasn't sure how mild to make it because if I can handle a decent amount of spice, so I made it double the spice-level of Lian's."

Jason continued, "I have to leave in a bit to prepare for evening service. If you want, you can watch, but I don't know how interesting a sermon is going to sound."

"Aren't priest supposed to encourage people to go to church?"

Jason shrugged. “Everyone has the right to choose church or not.”

“Free will and all that,” Jason explained lazily. 

"I'll go," Dick replied, half out of curiosity and half out of concern. 

Unpleasant thoughts caught up with him when he was alone. A different train of thought suggested whatever watched Dick would follow Jason. Dick could brave a crowd of noisy people to ensure Jason’s safety.

Jason commented, "You're welcome to observe. The doors open at five-thirty."

Reading Jason's wristwatch, Dick noted it was four forty-five at the moment. When Jason glanced down, he jolted up and reached for his black robe. Pulling it over his pressed, collared shirt, he fiddled with the neckline until it fit properly. He briskly walked in the direction of the door, he paused.

"Can you please wash my bowl for me?"

At Dick's nod, he jogged out the door. Staring at his empty bowl, Dick calculated thirty-five minutes before he could reasonably leave the house and enter the church without being excessively early. He turned to the pot of chili and stood up. Eating would kill at least ten minutes.

* * *

Despite arriving early, Dick stood in the back in the left corner. Something about having full view of the room smoothed Dick's nerves. Jason was a distant figure hovering over a podium in the front. Once he started speaking, he moved along the front. Even without a microphone, his voice echoed through the rectangular room.

Barely focusing on Jason's word, Dick observed the manner in which Jason spoke. His voice circled the room, clear and well projected without being loud. No slang or abbreviations littered his sentences except for momentarily, brief shifts of language to engage his congregation. His tone felt polite and friendly.

His posture changed to match his speaking patterns. His back straightened out to his full six feet two inches. His shoulders equally expanded to their full width creating aura of authority and confidence. His stride shrank into an even pacing that allowed him to cross the width of the church comfortably and unhurriedly as he spoke. He seemed at peace as if he were having a conversation with around seventy people.

The difference between Jason normally and in his clergy garments seemed to mainly be a manner of aura. Despite his normal roughness, Jason was approachable. Father Todd, in contrasted, was polite but there was a certain distance to him. Dick could read in the minute twitches of his face, that Jason filtered his words more carefully when in his Father Todd persona.

Having cataloged Father Todd's demeanor in detail, Dick turned his attention to the crowd. Composed mainly of individuals under fifty-five each dressed in fine clothes, they sat their hands inclined to pick up Jason's voice. A few of the younger ones, Dick noticed peeked at their cellphones. The bright backlit screens harshly contrasted with the half candle-lit room accompanied by orangish lights along the edge of the room. As for the families, he counted six or seven with children under ten. Two kids slept, the other fidgeted in their seats as their parents attempted to control them. Perhaps because Jason was speaking, the noise felt tolerable. Their biological functions and the tapping of screens the loudest noises in the room. 

Closing his eyes, the lack of pain in his head suggested to Dick that he had never been Christian or perhaps just never in a church. This moment, this memory, was his and his alone. The brief amiableness faded when the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. His instincts told him someone was watching.

Dick scanned the crowd, searching for the source of his discomfort. From his periphery, he noticed a cloaked figure slip out the door near the podium. Dick's peace gone. He rolled the possibilities through his head: _who was that?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endnotes:
> 
> [5] 'No se pueden pedirle peras al olmo.' is a Spanish idiom that translates to "you cannot ask an elm for pears" and means that you cannot ask for an impossible task. 'Mi arrendajo guardián' translates to my guardian jay (as in the bird).
> 
> [6] Adding the suffix -ito or -ita and their derivatives to a name is generally done as a term of endearment as -ito/a turns the word into 'little' ____. Jasoncito literally is little Jason.
> 
>  
> 
> **Author Notes:**
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry for the late chapter! I hope I manage to get a buffer back up so this doesn't happen again


	11. Scold

Jason hesitated. In his room, Dick sat eerily still, leaning on his dresser. A pillow sandwiched between his back and the handles of the drawers. He angled head to face the window. Turning for a second to scan Jason, his head just as quickly returned to its one-quarter position.

"You know you're welcome to head to bed first," Jason commented, maneuvering the tight space to his bed.

Dick glanced at him, his sky-colored eyes clouded with an emotion Jason couldn't read. His chest rose and fell in a laborious breath. His ear angled toward the window. He half-whispered, "I'm not tired."

"Okay. Don't stay up too late," Jason replied, edging toward the wall.

He closed his eyes. Flipping over, his arm flung wide and hit the springs of his bed to bounce up before resting on the cold bed. Instinctively, he pulled his arm close to his body. Shielding his arm away from the cold. His brain told him something was off. He touched the other side of his bed.

He touched the bed: _what was wrong was that?_ The sheets crinkled under his palms. An unwelcome chill crept up his fingers. Reaching farther out, his hand met air. Not that that surprised him. His narrow full bed barely fit his feet if he curled up into a ball. Jason opened his eyes a crack. The space next to him was empty.

A light bulb went off in Jason's head. There was a Dick sized gap beside him. Scanning the darkness, he inhaled sharply. In the dim light, Dick's dull pallor and unmoving body matched the liveliness of a cadaver. In his mind's eye, Jason saw glassy eyes watching him from the shadows, his mother's eyes.

He bit his cheek, jolting himself back to reality. Adjusting his position, Jason leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. If he watched carefully, he could see the slight rise and fall of Dick's chest. As if responding to Jason's concern, Dick turned to Jason and opened his eyes. Jason's mind compared the clear blue to the dull brown that haunted Jason's nightmares. Dick's spheres had a light, an intensity, to them that the eyes that watched Jason from his nightmares didn't.

Dick's eyes darted from Jason to the window. His inclined head like he was listening to something off in the distance. Jason swallowed, mentally shaking off the phantom of his deathly still mother. Looking again, Dick's still but his alert figure was nothing like hers. He was charged, a tightly wound spring, where she was petrified, an abandoned doll.

Pushing up on his forearms, Jason stretched to drag his cell phone off his dresser. The luminous numbers read 5:45 AM. Widening his eyes, he stared at Dick who stared trance-like at the horizon. He checked the time again. Rubbing his face, Jason flipped onto his back. Blinking slowly, he did some important calculations. Morning service began at eight but he had to finish setting up by seven.

_Will I wake up if I go back to sleep?_

His eyes said yes, but his experience told him no. He instead continued observing Dick, whose pallor glowed strangely pale in the cell phone backlight. His thin face became fuller since his stay, making him appear less haggard and younger. The skin darkened under his eyes and tightened around his the edge of his neck. The branching veins and scars stood out against his skin. It'd be a while since Jason had seen them, perhaps a listless night had made them more prominent.

Jason glanced at his phone which now read 6:05. With a sigh, Jason wriggled into a sitting position. The brisk morning air encouraged him to pull his blankets to his chest. Eying the blankets at Dick’s side, Jason sighed.

Clearing his voice, Jason croaked, "Did you sleep at all?"

Dick flicked his head slightly to observe Jason. In the same movement, he shook his head. He finished the action by arcing his neck to face the window. He watched something out of Jason's line of sight.

Jason blinked slowly. His past overlapped with the present scene. He saw a skinny teen with a shock of red hair staring off into the distance. Jason swallowed when he thought of the hollow eyes that would stare back some days, on the bad days. Jason recognized that solitary figure in Dick's sentinel-like posture.

"Do you want to talk 'bout it?" Jason asked. A yawn interrupted his words.

Dick's blue spheres darted from the window to Jason's face and back in a nearly unperceivable tilt of his head. Jason waited, stretching his arms above his head. Then, he arched his back to chase the sleep from his limbs. He shifted perpendicular to his bed, planting his feet last quarter of unoccupied flooring.

Jason added, "You don't have to talk to me, but don't make a habit of staying up nights."

"I don't think they intended me to sleep as much as a person," Dick muttered.

_They? The Court? How much does he remember?_ Jason questioned, banishing the thought at the drumming of Dick's fingers.

"Well, people have more than just material needs. You're welcome to take the bed. I have to prepare for today."

He stood up. Vertigo sent him off to the left. Before he could react, a freezing hand tugged his arm. The sudden change in inertia sent him straight into Dick's arms. The approximately five-foot-eight man supported Jason's weight easily, barely rocking as Jason's full six feet plus self slammed into him.

Jason's mind slowly processed his current position. Griping Dick's shoulder for support, he straightened up. He inhaled deeply, blinking as the dizziness left his system. Through the tips of his fingers, Jason felt Dick's sluggish heart jump a few beats before settling into its default march.

Releasing his hold, Jason chuckled, "Good thing you caught me. A priest walking around with a bruise on his face isn't the best image."

Dick watched the space above Jason, following something Jason couldn't see. Lowering his gaze to meet Jason's eyes, his brow knitted up. The sky-colored orbs jumped to Jason's waist. Dick’s brow rose, forming a high arch.

"Don't you have to get ready soon?"

Following Dick's light of sight to the glowing cellphone, Jason read the time: 6:21. The air left Jason's lungs in an exasperated hiss. Jogging to his closet, he pulled off his pressed slacks and a collared shirt. Then he sprinted into the bathroom. The only thought in his head was the repeated line: **Fuck.**

He mentally planned, _Five minute shower. Five minutes to dress. Drink water. Run to the church and let the others in. Finish setting up by seven. Remember which - Wait! First the toilet._

* * *

"Wait," Dick called out to Jason as he exited the bathroom, "I'll go with you."

Stilling, Jason turned to watch Dick button up a light blue collared shirt. While Jason was in the shower, it seemed like Dick had dressed. The collared shirt and dark pants combination certainly weren't Sunday morning attire, but it stood levels above the yoga pants and form-hugging tees he usually wore. Jason's church couldn't call itself the traditional in any case.

"The first service doesn't start until 8:00 and second service starts at 10:30 you know." Undoing the uppermost button, Dick nodded.

"Whatever floats your boat," Jason responded, shrugging.

Digging around in his pockets, he fished out his wristwatch. The scratched up timepiece read 6:35. He wrapped it around his wrist and then marched out in the direction of his church. He almost forgot Dick until he paused to insert his key into the back door. From his periphery, he noticed a shadow barely out of sync with his own.

As Jason entered the wide space, Dick slipped in behind him. Jason paused, turning on all the lights. Giving the space a cursory glance, he walked his right. Following the wall, he stopped in front of a small door, the supply closet, and grabbed a broom and dustpan. Jason gestured for Dick too sit and stay on his way.

Surveying the church, he saw in his mind’s eye a tall figure pacing the pews. Jer analyzed each aisle, clearing up all dust and litter. From the time he arrived until ten minutes prior to opening the doors, he made sure nothing stood out of line.

_A young Jason sat a pew watching picking at his tie. He said, “It’s going to get messy again. Why do all this?”_

_“Churches are the houses of God,” Jer explained, “as the host of this house, it’s only fair I do my part to make it welcoming. He grinned. He cupped a hand over his mouth and leaned in a conspiratorial. “It also keeps my mind off the fact I’m about to speak in front of fifty-sixty people.”_

When he began his sermons, he understood Jerome’s reasoning. Speaking in front of a crowd is tough. The weight of their trust stills even the most confident of tongues. If you prepare well and set your stage, you’ve done all you can even if everything else is an unaccounted for variable. Putting away the dustpan and broom, Jason observed the area. His eyes lingered on Dick who near the main door, opposite the podium. Dick's gaze scanned the empty room. Biting his lip, Jason wondered, _Why's he so. . ._

The word escaped Jason. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something felt off about Dick since yesterday's service. This morning clinched it. Dick stood too straight. His face looked too expressionless. His eyes glinted too intensely. He appeared more statue than a man. Inhaling, Jason realized he hadn't seen Dick take a breath in last few minutes. A light bulb went off in Jason's mind. Jason saw the wounded person he'd discovered last Sunday: the distrusting, paranoid, skittish Talon. The stiffness of Dick's posture was akin to a cornered robin searching for an escape route amidst a crowd of predators.

Concerned, Jason stepped toward Dick. He blinked as the doors of the church pushed open. Abuela's shawl pinned shoulders peeked in the door followed by a few other early birds mostly elderly. He drew in a careful breath and relaxed his face. He reorganized his expression into a small smile. Continuing to the door, Jason held it open for those still entering.

Watching Dick from his periphery, Jason welcomed the church-goers. He'd lost the moment to speak to Dick. He made a mental note to talk to Dick when they got home. Normally, service went by in a flash. Today it felt longer. Jason walked along the front row, speaking from memory. Jason fixed his attention on Dick as he spoke. As he turned and walked the width of the church, he kept Dick's figure in his periphery.

As he spoke, he noticed the door open a crack. A low crouched figure entered. A teen around Jason's height took the space next to Dick. When Jason turned back, he saw the teen, Gabriel, Jason recognized, lean down to whisper something to Dick who responded by shaking his head. Gabriel pinned his arms over his chest. His brow furrowed as he glanced up at Jason. He muttered something to Dick again. For the first time during the service, Dick’s attention shifted away from the front.

When he finished the service with a prayer, Jason waited exactly two minutes for people to begin leaving. Curiosity then motivated Jason to march pass the congregation to Dick and Gabriel in the back. People had different reactions to a priest heading straight in their direction: some greeted him openly, some gained a look of sheepish guilt, and some widened their eyes like they had been called to the principal's office. This is the first time he'd seen someone flinch and search for a hiding spot.

Backed literally to a wall, Gabriel stared at Jason fearfully. Jason blinked. Arranging his mouth into a polite smile, he slowly closed the space between Gabriel and him. Ignoring how the teen flinched, Jason angled himself to face Dick.

"Are you tired of listening to my voice yet, Dick?" Jason asked, his tone more playful than usual in his clergy attire.

Shifting to face Gabriel, Jason opened his mouth. Before a single word left his lips, a battered book was shoved in his face. Jason blinked taking in the worn black cover and a gold lettering. It took a moment for Jason to read Holy Bible emblazoned across the paperback-sized tome. His church owned a stack like this for Scripture readings and Sunday school.

"I'm sorry," sputtered Gabriel.

Taking the book from the teen's square hands, Jason paused. He gave the tome a cursory glance. Opening the cover, he read the label pressed into the back of it: Property of. . . He took in Gabriel's nervous expression from the corner of his eyes. Carefully deliberating his words, Jason took a deep breath. He closed the book.

"I am not angry," Jason started, holding up the tome, "but why did you take this?"

Gabriel ducked his head, staring at the ground. The teen's shoulders turned in and his spine leaned forward. His hands entered his pockets. Despite his six-foot frame, Gabriel felt no bigger than a mouse. To give Gabriel, Jason stepped back. Before moving, He glanced behind himself to ensure that the space was clear. Except for a few stragglers and the handful of volunteers, the church only held the trio.

"I [------] to [-----] how to [----]," Gabriel muttered.

Having missed half the words, Jason asked, "What?"

Jerking his head up, Gabriel quickly explained, "It's dumb, but I took it 'cuz couldn't catch all you said last service but the story sounded interesting. I shouldn't've taken it. Dumb of me to take it, I can't even read good. I'm so -"

Jason held up the Bible, gesturing for Gabriel to stop. Reaching for the teen's hands, Jason placed the book into Gabriel's hands, closing the square hands over the book. A skinny boy crouched over a book reading with the flickering light of a nearby street lamp flashed through Jason's head.

"It's yours," Jason hummed.

Gabriel's mouth dropped. His eyes jumped from the cover of the Bible to Jason's face and back several times. His shoulder collapsed into his body once more. His left cheek went concave. His lip curled in as he chewed it. He shifted the book uneasily between his palms.

"I can't read," Gabriel repeated.

"Well, you can learn and if the Book can help you, then it serves as good a purpose as it did here."

"No one to teach me."

Jason blinked. Dropping his voice, he questioned, "Gabriel, are you not in high school?"

Abruptly, Gabriel diverted his gaze. His eyes darted away every time Jason made an attempt to make eye contact. Skimming his plain dress shirt and jeans, Jason noticed the worn out, patchy nature of Gabriel's clothes. The rough scent of cheap, store-brand soap jogged Jason's memory of stripping down in a public restroom to rub dollar store body wash until he could see his skin for the first time in days.

Swallowing, Jason offered, "Everything you tell me is between us and God."

Peeking at the silent Dick, Jason joked, "And that Dick."

Gabriel chuckled, "Can priest say things like that?"

Making a show of looking around, Jason answered, "Am I on fire?"

"Gabriel, you can talk to me," Jason added, dropping his tone, "I swear I won't share anything without your permission. And I think Dick would leave if we asked. Or we can do this in the confessionary if that makes you more comfortable."

"He," Gabriel paused, "can stay. I try to go to school. Make it most of the time, but I can't keep up between work and helping out ma with the kids."

_Note to self, tell Jon to keep an eye on his hours,_ Jason thought.

Gabriel lifted the book and pushed it toward Jason. He declared, "I don't deserve this, can't understand half the words, anyway."

"I see," Jason vocalized, deliberately placing his words, "I disagree. You will never learn to read well if you don't practice. Actually, think we have a few books in the donation bin you can take."

"Why?" Gabriel replied, the word echoing in his chest with surprise.

Arranging his thoughts carefully, Jason answered, "I remember how rough it can get."

"You..." Gabriel's voice trailed off.

"I didn't always have a roof over my head."

"I stole it."

“Do you regret taking it?" Jason asked and continued after Gabriel's nod, "If you're repenting, then punishing you for it is double jeopardy. It'd only hurt your desire to learn."

"Let's get you those books before the second service starts." Jason smiled.

The teen opened and closed his mouth multiple times before he settled on, "Thanks."

Jason turned, walking past the empty pews. He slowed for a second to check that Gabriel kept up with him only to catch sight of Dick in their shadows. Jason led the two pass the podium and into the back area. Turning to the right, Jason entered a narrow room. Cabinets and a sink took up the width of the room. Cardboard boxes were scattered along the left wall. Along fold-out table took up the center of the room.

Sorting between the boxes, Jason pulled out a stout book filled with odd books. He walked over to the table and dropped the box in front of Gabriel. As Jason tore off the tape, his cell phone vibrated. Jason dug through his pockets, pulling up the rectangle. The alarm read: Second Service in 20.

Peeking at Dick, Jason suggested, "Dick can you help Gabriel sort through the books, while I head back out front? All you have to do is mark off what was taken before either of you leave."

Dick scanned the area slowly before he nodded.

Patting Gabriel's shoulder, Jason said, "Take as many as you want. Also, the doors are open if you need someone to lend you an ear."

* * *

_You'd think not having Dick around would mean I can focus on speaking_ , Jason thought wryly to himself.

"And I stood there frozen watching this horrible scene unfold in front of me."

As Jason walked across the front of the church, a portion of Jason's mind wondered how Dick handled Gabriel vice versa. He caught himself once or twice turning in the direction of the back room before he adjusted to face a different portion of the congregation. _Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock._ Time passed slowly.

"My first thought was to do what was easier for me. Then I paused and asked myself a few questions," Jason said, holding up his fingers, "What would I want someone to do my place?"

A few of the congregation stirred in their seats, checking their watches and phones. Picking up on the listless air, Jason simplified his ending statements. Stopping in the center, Jason skimmed the crowd. A handful of people obviously edged forward on their seats, ignoring how their Sunday's best creased. A mother or two gave their children scathing glances or held their children to the pews.

"–, to push people away or to offer one’s hand. It is in those moments where our inactions speak just as strongly as our actions," Jason summed up.

Holding the silent for several minutes, Jason clapped his hands and hummed, "I hope you all have a wonderful day."

_I wonder if this is how teachers feel_ , Jason pondered as the crowd dispersed.

The majority made a beeline to the door, slowed by small groupings of older men and women socializing. He checked his phone: 11:10. As the room emptied out, Jason gestured for a pair of women to take over. Jason and Bishop handled seventy percent of the church's duties. The other thirty percent went to the miraculous handful of clergy-people that remained at his nontraditional and ad libitum church.

Jason unceremoniously hurried to the backroom to check the duo that gnawed on his thoughts throughout his entire homily. Opening the door, he met a woman in her late fifties dressed in a long dark skirt and white blouse. She smiled and waved. Jason nodded in return, searching the room with a sweep of his head.

"Good morning, Father. Are you looking for someone?" she greeted.

Jason explained, "There were two people here -" Jason paused searching through his mental dictionary, "My friend and one of our members."

_Stranger than calling Dick a friend_ , Jason thought, _is not having a clue where he is._

To define his relationship with Dick seemed strange, he knew Dick too well to consider him a stranger or even an acquaintance yet he knew Dick not well enough to dub him a friend. Their shared experiences too few and too strained to form anything more than a slapdash bond. Naming their relationship at all felt too premature. They had only begun to make heads and tails of each other.

"I think," she spoke up at last, "the taller one mentioned heading to the park."

"Kane Park?" Jason asked for clarification.

"Well, they exited the left side."

"Thank you."

He caught her amused laugh as he turned on his heel. Moved as quickly as reasonable for legs restricted by stiff slacks. Nestled between an empty lot and a nearly historic aged house, Kane Park could barely dare to call itself a park. The grassy patch barely housed a small field, swings, and rusted metal structures. Between the shady loiters and generations-old play are, few allowed their children to do more than cut through the park during daytime.

Jason stepped off the sidewalk. The parched grass crunching under his feet. He passed the sparse patch of trees until he saw Dick standing off to one side. Gabriel occupied him, sitting on the warped park bench. Dick saw Jason first. His head suddenly jerked to face Jason. Gabriel responded to Dick’s actions by turning to Jason’s direction.

"Father Todd!" Jason recognized the booming voice as Gabriel's, "Look what Dick can do!"

Dick straightened out. Bending his knees, he bounced like a spring. His feet followed his head into a backflip. The second his feet touched the ground, Dick entered a forward somersault. He planted his landing. Brushing the loose strands of hair from his face, Dick beamed as Gabriel clapped.

Blinking, Jason shook his head. The responsible adult inside of him questioned what series of events led them to discover Dick's acrobatic skills. The rest of him enjoyed the wide, shining grin that spread across of Dick's face. For the first time since Jason had met Dick, he seemed completely nonplus. Elation radiated from Dick's pores, spreading to Jason. He chuckled.

Gabriel complimented, "Dude, you hafta teach me that yoga – acrobatic shit."

"I don't remember when I learned how to do this," Dick replied, a small crease formed on his forehead.

"That's cool," Gabriel answered, "Keep do it again and you'd figure out how to explain it to me."

_Beep. Beep. Beep._ Jason jumped. Gabriel dug through his pockets pulling out an off-brand, several versions old smartphone. He frowned. Picking up the three or four paperbacks, Gabriel tucked them under his arm. Jerking his head up, he made eye contact with Dick.

"I've got to leave. I'll see you later. You got to taught me how to do that. And don't you forget, you promised to teach me how to read," Gabriel rattled off.

Gabriel held up his hand at an angle. His arm hung in the air in waiting. After a moment, Dick met Gabriel's palm with his own. They ended by tapping fists. Gabriel turned and paused. He waved awkwardly at Jason before shuffling off.


	12. Exaltation

"For someone that said he never did one before, you're pretty good at tricks. But can you do a real backflip?" Gabriel half-joked, half-challenged.

Dick’s bones buzzed with a pleasant, nostalgic feeling. He bounced on his heels. The lingering jubilation from playing on the chin-up bars set his mood skyward. His body hummed with memories his brain couldn’t reach. He definitely could do a flip. Stepping away from Gabriel, he checked the firmness of the parched earth. 

Kicking off the scraggy, yellowed grass, Dick went airborne, twisting 180 degrees. The world turned on its axis and then righted itself in Dick's eyes and he completed the half-twist. A grin broke across his face at Gabriel's wide-eyed look of awe. Excitement bubbled up in Dick's chest, an infectious euphoria. His feet sliced the air and the world became a blur of color. His feet flirted with the ground as he entered a backflip. Sticking his landing, phantom applause echoed in his ears. He bowed.

"Dude, dude! that's fucking awesome. How'd you do that? Can you teach me?"

Dick’s body thrummed with energy. He searched his memory for instructions and came out with zilch. His body instinctively knew what to do. It simply felt right.

"I can't. I have amnesia," Dick explained, tapping his fingers on his thighs.

"Amnesia?"

"Memory loss. I only clearly remember the last week or so."

Gabriel watched Dick. His mouth opening and closing several times until he just stared at Dick. A valley formed between his eyebrows. 

"I know how to read and count, but nothing personal," Dick added, drumming a drawn-out, three-beat tempo on his thigh.

"Dude, that," Gabriel paused, "that just sucks. No memories at all?"

Running his fingers through his hair, Dick nodded his head. Pieces returned. Fragments he hoped were just nightmares. _“That sucks.”_

The knot in his chest slacked. The tension left his shoulders. A bemused laugh trickled out from his closed lips. His shoulders jumped and stiffened in secession as he suppressed his chuckle. 

In response, Gabriel leaned back, eying Dick with a concern. His head turned at an angle. His cheeks went concave like he inhaled sharply. His stiff shoulders and wide, brown eyes questioned Dick: _are you okay?_

"It sucks. You're the first one to say it to my face."

Crossing his arms, Gabriel defended, "It does, doesn’t it?"

"Yeah, it does, Gabriel, no matter spin he puts on it..." 

A particular priest popped into his head. The knot his chest tightened at the thought. Dick exhaled and it relaxed. 

"He? Oh, and it's Gabe. No one calls me Gabriel."

"Jason and doesn't he call you Gabriel?"

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. "He's a preach. That's different. And isn't it his job to see the silver lining?"

Gabe's eyes turned to saucers, his shoulder jerking up. His mouth formed silent words: Wait. He suddenly shook. From the garbled sounds escaping him, he bit down his laugh. His fist covered his mouth, barely muffling his sudden delight. As Dick began to speak, Gabe gave up the pretense and let out an echoing bark. 

Emphasizing his words with his hands, Gabe snickered, "Wait, wait. No memories. Man, does that mean you choose to be Dick?"

His frame trembled from his amusement. When he finished, Gabe held onto his sides as if to physically stop his laughter. His lips white as he bit down to keep it together. He rotated his hand quickly to encourage Dick to speak.

"No. My parents named me Richard," Dick sighed, as if he answered this question a million times, perhaps he once had and the words sat on the back of his tongue,, "Richard, Dick."

"Thought you said you had amnesia," Gabe broke down the last word carefully.

"I do. I only remember bits and pieces here and there. Someone sort of recognized me."

"Okay. Because dude, if you picked Dick yourself, I was gonna guess your memory wasn't the only thing that you lost."

Observing the grinning teen, Dick was suddenly reminded that he was over twice the kid's age. His instinct told him that Dick was a common name when he was young. Dick watched Gabriel, waiting for his immature laughter to subside. Putting his finger on it, Dick felt old. 

"If you know your name, why didn't you look for people that know you?"

"The article said my parents are dead." 

His gut twisted, implying that Gabe's idea wasn't good. His emotions screamed anyone that knew he wasn't dead would be in danger. Straightening up, Dick quickly scanned the horizon. He relaxed when the strange presence that had grated on his senses didn't register. 

"Oh, how'd you end up with Father Todd?" Gabe quickly tacked on, "if you don't mind me asking, y'all friends or . . .?"

Dick questioned himself, _What is our relationship? We aren't strangers, but what are we? I like Jason. What does he think of me?_

"He found me blacked out near his house."

"At least Father Todd found you and not some pimp or something."

"That's one way of looking at it," Dick confessed, "All I know is my name. Not who I was."

 _Or why Jason won't tell me I am. Or why someone watching me? At that thought,_ Dick recalled the thumping heartbeat only vanished after Dick left the church. Why am I telling Gabe this?

A second voice questioned if it was safe to tell Gabe what he had. Jason had thrown in his lot with Dick, but Gabe, he, was a stranger. 

"Yeah, true. I meant at least you're not alone. A lot of people left to fend for their own, but Father Todd got your back," Gabe paused.

In a firmer tone, he said, "And I got you too."

Maybe that was it, Gabe's self-assured innocent and straightforwardness made Dick comfortable. Dick saw that Gabriel had no ulterior motives, unlike Jason who, despite his kindness, had a hidden hand. He should probably not say more, to avoid further endangering the kid. Stepping forward, Dick picked up one of the ratty books that Gabe had taken: Gulliver's Travels.

Thumping through the pages to check his understanding Dick offered, "If you got my back, I got yours. I can help if you if you want."

"Seriously?"

Handing back the paperback, Dick nodded and expanded, "As much I know anyway."

"No, dude I'm a hopeless case any help is seriously needed."

"How about you, read one of these and mark wherever you're confused? And we can see what we can do from there," Dick suggested.

"Yeah, sure. When you free? Can you help me with English too?"

Dick thought of the off-white four walls and narrow halls that occupied the majority of his memory. And how claustrophobic his world would continue to be defined by Jason's home and actions, a suffocating level of dependence. Jason's voice played in his head reminding him that he should try to discover who he was now. A listless loomed in his mental horizon as he tried to imagine spending most of his hours indoors.

Glancing at the sky, Dick said, "I am free most days. I'll do my best."

Dick stilled. His ears picked up the crunch of grass. Feet quickly moved toward Dick and Gabe. Turning ajar, he recognized a familiar tall figure.

"Isn't that Father Todd?"

* * *

Jason pulled a shirt over his head, tugging it flat on his stomach. Walking around the coffee table, Jason sat on the couch. For a moment, he watched Dick. His heart spiking slightly as he thought.

"It looks like you hit it off Gabriel," Jason commented, leaned into the abused cushions.

Dick nodded his head.

"Don't let your excitement keep you up tonight," Jason joked, pushing off the couch.

Jason paused at the mouth of the hallway. "You're welcome to join me."

Dick closed his eyes. An odd sluggishness blanketed his system. Not weariness or exhaustion, the desire to simply cease thinking and to enter homeostasis with the universe.

His chest tightened a blimp registered on his mental radar: the nearly unperceivable pulse of an unseen figure. Reserve vim flooded his system. Dick opened his eyes. Jumping up, he quickly entered the bedroom.

Jason glanced up from his covers. The bed groaned as he shifted closer to the wall. His feet nearly knocked the spare blanket and pillow off the bed.

Catching the pillow, Dick settled onto the floor. Dick's ears first tuned in on Jason's specific heartbeat: **ba-bum, ba-bum, ba-bum.** Inclining his head, Dick filtered out Jason. _Fwip. Click._ The sound of a lighter tickled his ears and his brain. _Fwip. Click._ The pattern formed the rhythm of an impatient tick. . Blinking, Dick made out the sound of a second set of feet to his right. The soft scuffling settled into silent, but Dick determined that there were two people.

Jason turned over in the bed. Dick felt Jason's eyes drilling into him. Instead of Jason's normal andante, the tempo quickened. Dick watched the Jason fiddle with his cross. As if exhausted by his thoughts, he threw his head back and sighed.

"Are you okay? You've been pretty antsy since last night."

 _There's nothing he can do to stop it,_ Dick instincts told him.

His conscious reminded, _Didn't you promise to try to trust him? Also don't you hate it when he keeps things from you?_

Dick reported, "Someone's been watching us since yesterday. Two more people are watching us tonight, but I don't think they're with the first person."

"Well, if they're casing the place," Jason suggested, brushing his cross with one hand and adjusted the placement of a bat by his bedside with the other, "There's nothing worth taking. I can call the Neighborhood Watch if it'd make you feel better." 

"No, it doesn't matter." 

From the way these people moved, so silent that only their bodily functions gave away their presence, average people wouldn't even see them. His instincts added that if the Neighborhood Watch did find them, they might encounter trouble. It wasn't safe for normal people to meet whoever was stalking Dick and Jason.

"Okay."

"Aren't you going to ask me how I know this?"

Shrugging, Jason muttered, "I trust your judgment. Is there anything I can to do?"

"No."

"I see. Since there's nothing we can do, how about you catch some sleep? Whatever they do, staying up won't make them do it faster."

Jason patted the open space next to him. Inching until he essentially hugged the wall, Jason cleared up as large a space as a grown man could on a full bed. He pulled the blankets up to his chest and gestured for Dick to join him in the Sandman's realm.

Dick knew why he enjoyed sleeping next to Jason but wondered why the other allowed the normally private action. He should've questioned it sooner, but the previous times he needed someone there with him. That logic didn't work the other way around.

"Do you always share a bed with your guests?"

Jason didn't seem to be a physically affectionate person.

"The only ones who've regularly slept over are you, Lian, and that bum, Roy. But no it doesn't bother me much, if I let someone stay over, I’m comfortable enough to share a bed if they're fine with it. To be honest, my couch is a p-o-s," Jason admitted.

He paused and muttered, "I probably should get a sleeping bag or futon for guests or a bigger bed if you continue staying here."

Jason touched his cross. Dick bit the question atop his tongue. Somehow that action seemed private. Standing up, Dick placed his pillow on the right side. He leaned on the bed. Ignoring the slight anxiety the outsiders' presence caused him, Dick closed his eyes. 

Opening his eyes, Dick saw Jason's lazily curled arm in his periphery, embracing Dick. His jaw lined up with the bridge of Dick's nose. His fingers rested on Dick’s shoulder. Realizing Dick’s own hand wrapped around Jason's waist, he pulled his arm away. He edged back with his arm.

His movement woke his other appendages. Nature called. A dull pain radiated from his nether regions. Peeling off the blanket, Dick shrugged off Jason's embrace. Jason's arm tightened around him. Not tightly enough to physically stop Dick, but the movement still stalled Dick. He didn't wake up Jason, did he?

Angling his head, Dick watched Jason's eyes flutter half-open. He muttered gibberish and leaned closer to Dick. Jason’s lips brushed his forehead. Jason on pulled away. He rubbed Dick’s head. Suddenly his arm released Dick. He squirmed on the bed, burying himself in the pillow and sheets. He instantaneously fell back asleep.

A small part of Dick wondered what Jason had dreamt of. Another wondered if his stance on bed-sharing was rather lax, was his stance on kissing similar? Despite his occupation, Jason seemed like a rather devil-may-care personality. _Did that attitude extend to kissing?_

Before Dick considered how he felt about the kiss, his bladder doubled down and did the sensational equivalent of screaming. It threw a temper tantrum, demanding Dick immediately head to the toilet or relieve himself in the bed. Dick rolled out of bed. He darted to the bathroom.

When he came back to the room, Jason stared at Dick, blinking his eyes rapidly. Jason pinched the bridge of his nose. His face contorted, twisting with intense concentration. He sighed and stepped off of his bed.

"I'm gonna make some coffee an eggs, you want any?" Jason asked, his voice husky from sleep.

"I'll shower first," Dick answered.

The two men danced around another, sidestepping to avoid a collision. As Dick knelt to open the drawer that Jason cleaned out for him, Jason cleared his voice. Dick looked up, resting his fingers on the soft cotton of a pair of pajama bottoms.

"I didn't do anything weird, did I?" Jason asked, rubbing the back of his head.

Dick shook his head.

"Wait."

"Yes?" Jason's voice jumped half an octave. His gaze swung from Dick's jaw up to his eyes.

"Do you know where I can get a cheap dictionary? I promised to help Gabe with English," Dick muttered, tapping on the drawer.

"Jon probably has some. I can take you after breakfast if you want."

"Thank you."

“We might run into Gabriel if he has a shift today.” Jason gave Dick a thumbs up. Dick turned his attention back to the drawer filled with his meager array of clothes. As Dick exchanged the bottoms for a pair of yoga pants, he heard Jason shuffle away, muttering under his breath: _Did I imagine that? I need a smoke._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's starting to get hard to name these chapters base on the theme I've been using.
> 
> We're halfway through the series! 


	13. Troubling

_Was that real?_ Jason bit his lip.

The patter of the shower bled through the thin walls of his house. Looking away from the bathroom door, Jason stared at the slowly dripping coffee machine. The brown fluid barely filled the bottom of the glass. Closing his eyes, Jason attempted to rub the sleep from his eyes.

Staring forward, Jason watched the coffee tease him as it fell through the filter. **Drip. Drip.** Rolling his lip between his teeth, he switched to running his fingers through his hair. **Drip. Drip.** He wasn't awake enough to think about this. Stepping away from the counter, a new thought entered his mind, _If it was a dream, then it doesn't mean anything._

_Other than you might be interested in Dick_ , his brain added, not-so-helpfully.

Jason shook his head. Forcing that train of thought to the back of his mind.

Except being the busybody that he was, Jason's consciousness wouldn't stop there. A fraction of him rose up walking the perimeter of his conscious, gathering evidence. A defense attorney ready dismantle the opposition, a voice in his head listed off several points.

_Even if it was a dream, why was it, Dick? You said you wanted to get to know him better. Are you interested in him?_

Jason stared at his coffee pot. He pretended he couldn't hear the argument his brain set up. He watched each drop with the intensity of an oracle foretelling the end of the world. Each drop of coffee seemed temporarily frozen in time as it teased Jason before joining the other drops in the bottom of the glass.

_If you think you might be interested, shouldn't you tell him? You share a bed, after all._

**Bed,** he focused on that. Turning back time, Jason's mind conjured images of a trembling, breathless man with terror in his cloudy eyes. The half swallowed shouts and the curled in frame as if Dick was physically holding himself together as he badly hid his emotions.

Yanking the pot from the machine, Jason poured the hot liquid into a mug. His knuckles went white where he gripped the handle. He hastily blew on coffee. In the same breath, he angled the liquid into his mouth. He downed two mouthfuls nearly searing his tongue. The sudden caffeine hit his system like a truck, clearing up his thoughts.

Seeing Dick in that light was _wrong_ even if Jason wasn’t following some self-imposed celibacy. Dick was an adult, but he had amnesia. Jason felt responsible for Dick and he relied on Jason. Dick needed someone to help him get back on his feet. That was it. Anything else was . . .

A phantom buzz in his ears filled him with heavy emotions. The toxic mixture of guilt and regret underscored his conviction, strengthening it. Tracing his cross, Jason knew he wasn’t made for relationships. _Not that kind anyway._

The hinges on the bathroom door squeaked open. Looking over his shoulder, Jason saw a ratty towel tangled around one of Dick's arms as he dried off his hair. His only pair of jeans were slung low on his hips. A form-fitting tee left little to the imagination.

Turning his head, Jason took another long drink of his coffee. His mouth instantly regretted it as the full force of the beverage assaulted his taste buds. With his free hand, he searched his cabinet for creamer and sugar before draining half of his mug.

Jason filled his cup back to the brim, adding a tablespoon of cream and sugar. He took another sip and stretched. Actually up and running, Jason cleared up his counter. He sidestepped to his fridge, pulling out eggs, deli meats, tomatoes, bell peppers, cilantro, and other greens. Dumping them on his counter, he dug a whisk, pan, and oil out from under his counter. Turning on the flame, he set the pan atop before pulling a bowl from his cabinet.

On a cutting board, he quickly sliced the meat into small strips, then chopped his vegetables. Turning, he added oil to his pan. With a quick flick of his wrist, he spread the oil throughout the pan. Cracking three eggs into a small bowl, he whisked them haphazardly. A second later the eggs when into the pan. A minute after that went everything else. 

He folded the omelet onto a plate. Placing the plate on the table, he saw Dick open the fridge and pull out the nearly empty gallon of milk. Jason exhaled. He straightened out and playfully crossed his arms.

"I'm going to get offended one day that you prefer cereal over my home cooking."

Dick shrugged and commented, "It's easier to make. Can’t taste much anyway."

Shaking his head, Jason divided his eggs with his fork. As he took the first bite, a knock sounded from his front door. Dick tensed, eying the door uneasily. Jason stood up and reluctantly headed for the door. Ignoring how his stomach complained about the meager amount of food that just entered it, Jason opened the door. 

A man of approximately five feet eight broke out into a grin. He held out his head and pulled Jason into a welcoming hug. The other arm firmly patted Jason's bad. Patting Marcus's shoulder, Jason noticed the two men standing behind Marcus. Each gave Jason a curt nod.

"Good morning too, but I doubt this is a pleasure visit," Jason muttered as the man released him.

Stepping back, Jason nearly hit Dick who had appeared sometime between opening the door and now. Glancing back at Marcus, Jason angled his body so that Dick was in plain sight.

"Marcus, Dick. Dick, Marcus."

"Nice to meet you," Marcus welcomed.

Marcus held out his hand. Dick took it and for a tense moment, Jason saw them sizing each other up. Marcus puffed out his chest and squeezed firmly. Dick had a nonplus look and gave a curt nod in response to Marcus's greeting.

Releasing hands, Marcus stepped toward the other two men. Jason vaguely recognized them from the congregation, but never personally spoke to them. The three exchanged pointed looks.

"Son, has anything strange been happening?" Marcus addressed the elephant in the room.

_They can't know about Dick,_ can they? Jason's mind blurted, paranoid.

Crossing his arms, Jason asked, "What kind of strange?"

Marcus clarified, "The last few nights people reported odd sightings in the area."

Making eye contact with Dick, Jason raised a brow in a question. Dick tensed up. Jason picked up the dull sounds of fingers tapping on denim. 

"No, I didn't notice anything, but we live in Gotham strange comes with the territory." "How about your friend there?" Marcus questioned, jerking his head in Dick's direction.

"I didn't see anything," Dick answered, his voice hoarse from disuse.

Marcus nodded. "Well, we're starting up a night watch for the next week or so to calm people's minds. Could you announce that at the next service? We're looking for volunteers."

"I'll leave a message for Bishop.

Clapping his hands, Marcus smiled, "Now that we got that business outta of the way, do you mind if I speak to you in private?"

"We'll head off to the next house then," one of the two mumbled, taking the hint.

"Dick, you should finish your cereal before it gets soggy. I'll be in as soon as I'm done with Marcus."

Jason barely picked up Dick's shuffling steps into the house. Closing the door, Jason moved onto the pitiful strip of concrete that he called a porch. The dust brushed along his toes.

"Something wrong Marcus?" Jason inquired.

Watching the space behind Jason, Marcus questioned in a low voice, "Who's your friend?"

"What?"

"Your friend. He appeared outta nowhere."

Straightening out to his full six feet two inches, Jason hissed, "Are you trying to suggest he's involved in something?"

I mean he is, but I'm the only one that should know that. Except the Court.

"No, no, mijo," Marcus protested, raising his hands up in defense. "Jon said you bought clothes for him and he's been living with you..."

Marcus left the gaps for Jason to fill. Jason blinked processing the information. Jason facepalmed. Dragging his hand down his face, Jason felt a wave of disappointment.

"Are you trying to ask if we're together?" Jason finally gasped, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"You know I won't judge if you were -"

Jason interrupted, "How much do you have on us dating?"

"What?"

"Jon started another betting pool on whether or not I'm dating someone again, didn't he? How much do you have on me dating Dick?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, mijo."

Crossing his arms, Jason stared at Marcus.

Marcus sighed, "I didn't bet on anything. Jon nagged me to ask you. I came by to drop these off."

He lifted a trash bag size bag up. The plastic had Jon’s Thrift on the side. Jason vaguely recalled Jon promising to send someone with the blankets. _Jon._

Rubbing his temple, Jason muttered, "I thought you were trying to get him to quit."

Marcus shrugged. "You can get an ass to water, but . . ."

"That's a nice way of describing your husband," Jason chuckled.

"Well?" 

Jason sighed, "Dick's fallen on some hard times and I'm helping back on his feet."

Closing the space between them, Marcus offered, "You know I wouldn't say anything if it were -"

"Marcus," Jason warned.

"Fine," Marcus retreated, "If you want to volunteer call me or the Neighborhood Watch. Be careful, Jason."

Massaging his temples, Jason took a moment to erase the ridiculousness of the past five minutes out of his head. His stomach grumbled like an old miser. The silence gave his mind time to be nosy once more.

Jason pulled out his phone and opened VAY. The further downtown were the typical robbing icons. He paused on the Batman logo placed in a million different locations. Closing it, Jason wondered if a Talons or Court of Owls icon existed. Or was it even the Court?

_Whatever, whoever, Dick heard others saw them. What if it's the Court of Owls?_ Jason's temple pulsed unhelpfully. _What could I do? I’m just some pastor off the beaten block in Gotham. It's not like I have Batman on speed dial. Even if I did how would I begin to explain Dick?_

Jason's stomach roared, ending that line of thought. Turning around, Jason entered his house. Mentally hitting the pause button, Jason promised to think about it after breakfast.

* * *

Switching between staring at his motorcycle and surveying Dick, Jason pulled on his red helmet. He rolled the spare, pink one his hands uneasily. The memory of a no-hands backseat rider tingled his nerves. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. 

Holding the helmet above Dick's hands, Jason said, "No crazy stunts or you're walking home, understood?"

Dick tucked his chin in a reluctant nod.

"Why would you let go in the first place?" Jason muttered softly to himself.

"The wind. It feels like flying."

Mounting the seat, Jason said, "Well, find your adrenaline rush somewhere else without getting me a ticket."

A moment later, Jason kicked off. The engine roared to life and they zipped down the street. At every stop light and sign, Jason double checked that Dick's arms sat at his waist. His heart nearly gave every time Dick moved or adjusted his fingers.

Squeezing between two vans, Jason waited for Dick to dismount the bike before following suit. A second later, he applied his Tetris skills to store both helmets under the seat. Zipping up his race jacket, Jason pointed at Jon's store with a jerk of his thumb.

A small bell went off as the door swung open. Jon glanced up from the corner. A wide grin broke across his face. His eyes jumped between Dick and Jason. He waved energetically at Jason. Reflexively, Jason paused.

_Why does he look so happy_ \- Jason wondered, _oh right, his bet._

"The books’ section is next Jon," Jason commented, "You should probably find an old dictionary over there."

Dick nodded, veering off to the right. Jason kept moving forward until he came to a stop in front of the counter. Jon's face glowed. His eyes turned crescents as he waved at Jason.

"Jon stop betting on my love life," Jason hissed, cutting to the chase.

Jon mouth popped into an 'o'. In the next second, the 'o' became a straight line. Jon interlinked his hands and rested them on the counter.

"What are you talking about -," Jon began.

Jason cut off Jon. "Marcus already told me."

"You know us old people love to gossip. If it wasn't me, it'd be someone else. I can cut you in on the bet," Jon started his pitch. 

"You're asking a priest to gamble," Jason stated, tilting his head judgmentally.

"So are you?" Jon asked, ignoring Jason's criticism.

"No."

Before Jon could make another sound, Jason repeated, "No."

"When was the last time you let yourself have fun, Jason?"

Swallowing, Jason broke eye contact. Angling his head to the right, his ears itched from an audio nightmare. He shook his head to chase away the sound. Turning his head, Jason saw Dick shifting through worn books. On the case perpendicular to him, a handful of bat-shaped boomerangs sat on the top shelf. Below it was other miscellaneous items: an empty canister of fear gas, a cat-shaped calling card, and an arrow made of red metal. 

_An arrow made of red metal,_ facepalming, Jason realized, _I don't have Batman on speed dial, but Roy that’s another unfortunate story._

"Do you mind if I duck out back to make a call?"

Lifting the counter door, Jon warned, "It's a mess back there."

Jon wasn't joshing. The narrow hall shrank from the boxes of odd items that lined the wall. Jason edged carefully forward until he made it to a slightly roomier backspace. The area had enough room for a small fold-out table, chair, TV, and a row of boxes lining the perimeter.

Dropping into the plastic chair, Jason pulled out his phone. He quickly scrolled through his contacts. It didn't take long. Jason had only a handful of contacts. Tapping his foot on the speckled linoleum flooring, Jason impatiently waited for the dial tone. Mumbling appeared on the other side of the phone.

"Roy?" Jason double checked.

Roy stumbled over his words, "Jaybird, why - do you know what time it is? Six. Why'd you call me?"

"I need a favor," Jason began. 

“Wait, you’re not getting mad? What’s wrong?” Roy said, shocked. A mess of noises bled through: rustling sheets, creaking springs, and a panting Roy. Jason's foot continued to thump off on the flooring. A series of clamoring noises suggested that Roy dropped his cell.

Pausing, he clarified, "Professional help." 

"Alright, what's wrong?!" Roy essentially shouted into Jason's ear.

"You know a guy who specializes in bats, right?"

"Jason what happened?" Roy hissed.

"Answer the question."

"Yes, but why the flying fuck do you need his help!"

"So you can talk to him?Without asking me for details, ask him if he knows why a group of owls is interested in interested in the church off 5th and Wayne. Or better yet can you pass me his number?”

Sounding exasperated, Roy said, "You’ve lost me.Wait. Isn’t your church on 5th and Wayne?"

"I said not to ask questions."

_How would I even begin that story? Hey Roy so I'm might be harboring essentially is what is Gotham's version of the Illuminati's Black Hand and they might want him back,_ Jason mocked himself. _Saying that in some thinly veiled code on an unsecured line gave him an imaginary headache._

"Are you in danger?" Roy asked after a long silence.

"No, not at the moment."

_I'm just a small-time priest. If the Court is real and wanted me dead, I'd be dead._

"I'll call Bats, but if anything happens, call the damn police."

"Thanks, Roy."

“Oh. Have your fucking phone on for once.”

Swiping his phone, Jason stared at the blank screen. He was a minority priest in the bad part of town. What did he do to deserve to get involved in Gotham's weird and dark side?

The light on his cell blinked rapidly. Jason checked it. Bishop’s name appeared in the corner. Messages appeared in bold white letters with a seven in parenthesis. That was the problem with having a habit of keeping his cell either on ringer or silent. He unlocked it and checked VAY. Other than an apparent robbing on 4th, nothing of interest appeared. 

While he still remembered, he enabled the sound to normal. Exhaling, Jason stood up and pocketed his phone. It wasn't productive to remind on that train of thought. Turning around, Jason shuffled toward the core of the store.

"Fucking shit!"

Jason froze. If it hadn't been for the gasp, Jason would've assumed he ran into a stand. Gabriel pushed off the stacks of boxes. Gabriel flattened out the wrinkles in his pants. His eyes fixed on Jason’s shoulders.

"I'm sorry!" he exclaimed, brushing off the dust from Jason’s shoulder.

Catching narrow fingers, Jason countered, "No it was my fault. I apologize for spooking you."

“You didn’t spook me,” Gabriel said, puffing out his chest. 

Jason opened his mouth and closed it when he noticed the swollenness under Gabriel’s eyes. Gabriel crossed his arms over his chest defensively. His skin had a pale, unhealthy quality to it. 

"Have you been having problems sleeping lately?" Jason asked, pulling out his Father Todd voice. Jason straightened up. Plastering a smile on his face, Jason peered at Gabriel. 

"No," he said under his breath.

"I am not here to judge, Gabriel."

"It sounds like I'mma liar, but I saw the devil last night," he whispered. His voice stilted as if holding back emotions. He checked over his shoulder for good measure. His arms pulled protectively to his chest.

"Perhaps if you talk about it, it'd make you feel better." 

Flattening himself along the boxes, Jason gestured for Gabriel to seat at the chair. His bloodshot eyes widened in surprise. Gabriel ducked his head, staring at the floor.

"I can't take up your free time like that, Father," he murmured.

Cupping his shoulder, Jason emphasized, "I'm offering my time. I would be glad to listen if it took some weight off your shoulders."

"It had curved, metal horns and red eyes the size of satellites," he spoke, half his words dipping into a voiceless fear, "and it had a row of knives sticking outta its chest."

Gabe hesitated, scanning the dark corners of the room. Jason waited, gesturing his to continue. Although the descriptor wasn't familiar, Gabe’s demon sounded very much like one of Gotham's many masked criminals.

"I was heading home after work when it landed in front of me. It didn't move like a human - too quiet," Gabe said. The word caught his throat. "It turned and saw me. That's how I got a good look at its face. Before it got any closer, some others came down. Black and gray? Maybe Batman and his Batling? I guess they heard me making some noise. It jumped straight onto the fire escape and disappeared."

Why does this sound familiar?

Inhaling, Jason inquired, "Did it wear armor on its shoulders and arms?" 

"How'd you know, Father? You see it too?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter in which Jason defies some fanfic tropes by being a responsible adult.


	14. Clamor

Dick scanned the house as he entered. Ensuring the security of his home, he deposited his books on the kitchen table. _His home_ , when did it become his or house become home? Turning around, he observed Jason enter the home slowly.

Jason inched forward. His arms crossed over his chest. His gaze erratically jerked across the space. His mouth set itself in a firm line. Jason seemed even skeptic of his own shadow. He closed the door behind him. He sighed.

Dick’s nerves responded by rearing its head. Tapping a beat on his thigh, Dick blinked. It transformed into suspicion. His brain went into overdrive. Pulling up the tape from his memory archive, it rewound from the present: the bizarre behavior on the way home, the rattled responses to a conversation with Jon, the distinct discomfort in his body ducking out from behind a curtain. 

_What happened then?_ He’s been tense since then, Dick realized.

His mind conspired against him. _Another secret he’s keeping from you?_

_You don’t know that. Just ask Jason what’s wrong._

Dick took a breath to strengthen his resolve. Stepping forward, Dick made eye contact with Jason who tilted his head in response. Dick exhaled and began to speak. 

_Ring. Ring. Ring._ The unusual sound of a ringtone rang out through the room. Dick blinked, suppressing the urge to jump. Jason’s shoulders yanked up in surprise. He exhaled and quickly dug for his cellphone. His eyes narrowed as he read the caller’s name.

Dick angled his head questioningly. Jason acknowledged it with a nod. He held up his index finger, gesturing for a minute. With the opposite hand, Jason swiped for the call. His free hand went to the door and he exited the house. The door closed firmly behind him. 

Dick vaguely picked up the repetitive sounds of rubber grating on hard dirt. Jason paced a distance from the door, Dick assumed from the muffled noise outside. His ears strained to make out Jason’s voice.

“Hey Roy.” 

An extended pause.

“Off-the-grid?”

The scuffling stopped. Jason stopped pacing.

“No,” Jason said, pitching his voice and elongating the ‘o’. 

“Thanks for trying. No, Roy, don’t need your help yet. I _hope_.”

“Bye, Roy. I said goodbye.”

A few moments later the door opened, Jason entered. **_Ba bum, ba bum, ba bum._** His heartbeat pounded away a song that encouraged Dick’s suspicions.

 _Not going to lie to you, now who said that,_ a voice reminded.

 _Ask him._

“Is something wrong?” Dick asked, flexing his fingers. 

Jason blinked and crossed his arms over his chest. 

“You have been acting strange since Jon’s shop. Is something wrong?”

“Nothing,” Jason answered, absentmindedly touching his necklace. “What makes you think that?”

“Your heart is racing.”

“Wait what?” You can hear my heartbeat?!” Jason’s heart thudded more erratically. 

Dick nodded.

“You listened to it without permission? That – that sounds so weird and invasive…”

“I can’t help – Don’t avoid the question. Is something wrong?” 

Dick tapped his fingers on his thigh. The irritation welted up in his chest mixing with indignation. Dick inhaled sharply. His nerves boiled over.

“I thought we agreed to be honest,” Dick stated. “I guess that means different things to you and me.” 

“No, wait.” Jason gestured for him to stop. He bit his lip. His fingers white against his cross. 

“I mean –I don’t know. I’m not sure yet.” Jason began and abandoned ideas in succession. 

“I’m trying to get the facts straight myself. Give me a bit of time to organize my thoughts, okay?”

Dick pressed his palm flat against his thigh. Exhaling, Dick negotiated, “As soon as you have it sorted, tell me.”

Jason nodded.

“Or we can discuss it together.”

“Whatever is happening we’ll get through this together,” Jason said, uncertainty. 

The tight-lipped smile and folded arms undercut his declaration. His thumb stroked his cross reflexively and slowly. The air around him seemed hazy. Dick’s nerves curled up in his chest, resting its head. It kept one eye open searching for an opportunity to pounce. 

* * *

Dick turned. The sounds of cloth bled through the bedroom door which opened to reveal Jason in his priest attire. He picked up a set of paper bags filled to the brim.

“I’m heading to the church,” Jason stated, “I’ll be back around 10 or 11.”

“What are those for?” Dick asked, gesturing to the blankets.

“It’s not so common in the neighborhood, but every now and then I get someone who sleeps in the church overnight. Since it’s getting closer…” Jason let the sentence trail off pointedly. 

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

“I’ll risk being mugged over someone freezing at night.” Jason shrugged. 

He smiled, tentatively, “It’s not like there’s anything worth stealing away.”

Dick glanced at the darkening sky. His mind turned to the mysterious presences haunting the night. Looking at Jason, Dick felt his emotions twist. The desire to be alone and the desire to protect Jason came to a stand-off. 

“Stay safe,” Dick warned. 

Jason nodded. “I’ll be near. If you need me just shout.”

As Jason closed the door, Dick heard Jason mutter, “Maybe I should buy him a phone.” 

_What am I going to do now?_ Dick wondered. 

The skittish, heavy creature in his chest flapped its wings. Tapping his fingers on his lap, Dick swallowed. His growing anxiety settled in his lungs. Dick figuratively gave the bird to the flapping emotion.

 _Teach me that yoga – acrobatic shit,_ Gabe’s voice played in Dick’s ear. 

Dick grabbed Jason’s laptop and set it on the dining table. After it booted up, he searched acrobatics and yoga. Eyeballing the living room, Dick decided to keep things simple. Choosing a few yoga exercises, Dick pushed the coffee table toward the couch. He moved the laptop to the living room. 

Interlinking his fingers, he stretched his arms up. He inhaled deeply. The fledgling anxiety hovered, slackening. Dropping his hands, he exhaled slowly. Vim filled his veins. He rolled his shoulders, loosening them. Bouncing in place, he warmed up his muscles. Tension flew the coop. He leaned forward, touching his toes. He did a series of basic stretches to prep before doing anything else. 

He shifted out of the child position onto all fours. Dick placed his hands slightly in front of his shoulders. Inhaling, he extended his arms upward. Exhaling, he lifted his knees off the ground. Spreading his fingers wide to stabilize his balance. He pressed his palms flat to the ground and did the same for his heels. He took a deep breath. The chart labeled this position downward facing dog. Holding it for several breaths, he relaxed. He repeated the steps twice before returning to the child. He entered upward dog. Then, the bridge with the child between each step. He repeated the entire cycle. For twenty minutes, his mind felt clear.

The outside world invaded the house. The pulsing beats of gaggles of two or three circled the neighborhood. Dick paused. He stood. Walking toward the kitchen, he stopped in the threshold. The groups had mostly men each carried a flashlight. Dick blinked. As one of the men turned, Dick read the Neighborhood Watch across the back of his shirt. 

_We’re patrolling because of the weird noises at night,_ Dick recalled what Marcus said.

 _The strange observer is dangerous._ His flying foul of nerves crash-landed into his chest. Dick swallowed. Nothing was wrong. Everything felt wrong. He drummed out a three-beat measure.

Closing his eyes, Dick willed his emotions away. Glancing at the laptop, Dick decided that since he managed the beginner poses fine to kick it up several levels. Logically, that wasn’t a practical solution, but anything to end this hatchling anxiety. 

Despite his attempts not to, Dick mentally cataloged the Watch’s schedule. A group of up to four circled the area roughly every hour. As evening turned to night, more and more flashlights turned on. The chattering reduced into whispers. 

Snapping his head to the window, his ears zoomed in on feet moving toward the house. From between the blinds, Dick made out a human figure dressed in black approximately six yards away. Jason walked. His hands empty. His brow knitted together. His hand moved periodically to touch his cross. 

Dick gave up the pretense of yoga. For the last few hours, he’d stood still in the living room, focusing his sights and hears on the patrols. Turning off the laptop, he pulled the coffee table back into place. He searched for an outlet. He connected the machine to a charger. 

Entering the bedroom, Dick dug through his draw for a change of clothes. The various poses and stretches he attempted worked up a sweat that dried into a whitish crust. Grabbing them, Dick jumped in the shower. When he finished, he heard the doorknob turn.

“Welcome back,” Dick said, drying off his hair. 

“Thanks,” Jason answered, pitching his voice up slightly.

He continued, “You just got outta the shower?”

Dick nodded. 

“Wet hair plus pillow is a bad idea.”

“I am not going to sleep.”

At Jason’s stare, Dick elaborated, “Someone needs to watch them.”

“Them?” 

“The Neighborhood Watch. The dangerous strangers are out there.”

Jason asked, “The stranger is outside now?”

Dick shook his head. “Not yet. It’ll be bad for them if –” 

Interrupting Dick, Jason said, “If they haven’t acted yet, they probably won’t any time soon.” 

“I think so anyway.” Jason’s uncertain pulse gave him away.

Blue stared into blue. Jason broke eye contact first. A heavy breath escaped from between his lips. He shook his head. 

“Well, I’m gonna change and sleep. Try not to stay up all night, Dick,” Jason said.

Once Jason nested into his blankets, Dick sat on the bedroom floor. Between keeping an eye on the Watch and Jason, Dick knew which his priority was. Jason tossed a pillow and blanket at him. Creating his roosting space, Dick settled into for the night. His shifted through the nighttime noise, making sense of the outside world. The window gave him a limited view of the world. He focused his senses.

 **Baba bum baba bum baba bum.**

Jason’s racing heart pulled Dick out of his trance. Dick watched Jason. The man began twisting in the bed. His jerky movements punctuating his sped-up beat. **_Baba bum baba bum baba bum._** Dick straightened. His curled hands hovering in the air, uncertain. 

“No. No. NO!” Jason shouted, pleadingly. 

His twitches became thrashing. His mutterings rose in volume. His breath went ragged matching his other chaotic rhythms. **_Baba bum baba bum baba bum._**

“I’m sorry.” Dick made out that phrase out of everything he begged between pained noises. 

Tapping his fingers in the air, Dick recalled how Jason helped him. Leaning forward, Dick shook Jason’s shoulder. Sweat glued Jason’s fringe to his forehead. His eyes remained tightly shut.

Dick frowned. “Jason, wake up. Wake up.” 

“Err,” Jason murmured, curling his lip.

His clenched jaw unhinged as his eyes snapped open. His breath continued to flail, flapping its wings wildly. His chest heaved. His heart speeding up to a dangerous tempo. 

Dick pushed down own anxiety at the sight of Jason. The sporadic, staggered actions vividly reminded Dick of himself after his nightmares although none of the actions matched. The creature beat its wings against Dick’s chest. Dick swallowed and focused on Jason.

 _He’s going to hyperventilate and pass out,_ Dick realized. Playing to the surreal sense of déjà-vu, Dick mirrored past Jason. 

“Hey, hey.” Dick repeated from memory and continued, “Hey, Jason. Listen to my voice.”

Jason’s eyes focused on Dick, gaining a bit of clarity. 

“Okay, good. Now. Inhale for one, two, three,” Dick ordered. “Hold it for one two three four five six. Exhale for one, two…” 

* * *

Dick entered the room. He moved slowly, observing Jason who sat at the edge of the bed. Jason placed his head in his hand and stabilized his elbows on his knees. A sheen of sweat shined on his neck under the fluorescence lights. 

“Water?” Dick offered, pushing a glass in front of him.

Jason nodded. Dick closed the space. Jason tilted the cup. The liquid disappeared. Jason placed the empty glass on the table next to a box containing the cross. 

“Thanks,” Jason coughed. 

Dick noticed the redness of his eyes and closed his mouth.

“What –“ Dick stopped in his tracks. 

Instead, he dumbly echoed his memory, “I’m here to listen if you want.”

Jason’s gaze dropped to the ground. A smile crept up the side of Jason’s face Dick could see, appearing more smirk than sincere. He chuckled dryly.

“The shoe is on the other foot now.”

A flash of red drew Dick’s attention. Jason followed suit to Jason’s cell phone, laying on the drawer. The red continued to pulse.

Jason swiped the screen. His eyes widened. His jaw went slack. It snapped shut. He pulled the phone closer to his face. He checked the screen’s contents. **Thump.** Jason slapped his palm to his forehead.

As if he’d forgotten Dick existed, he whispered, “It’s today?”

He promptly stood up. The charger and the phone separated painfully. He grabbed an old, threadbare jacket with pockets that bulged slightly. Not acknowledging Dick, Jason trudged out the bedroom and out the front. 

Dick watched the open door. _Should I?_

 _If your roles were switched,_ Dick sighed. 

Closing the door behind him, Dick watched the wisps of smoke leaving Jason’s lips. The ember of the cigarette stood out in the night. The tapped it on the wall, knocking off the ash. Jason leaned on the wall not facing the church. Sitting down upwind of him, Dick waited a moment. 

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

“I’ve tried quitting for years now. Best I get is two a good month.”

“How many you’ve had so far?” Dick crushed his true curiosity: _why are you sorry?_

“Considering the last week or so, surprisingly one.” 

Pulling another play from Jason’s book, Dick said, “If you want someone to listen, I’m here. If you don’t, I will keep you company in the silence.”

“I forgot –“ Jason started. 

He inhaled more smoke and exhaled slowly. 

“Today’s the day Jer,” Jason said. “The man that picked me up died. Over there.”

Jason pointed to the church with the glowing orange head. 

_How do I?_ Dick wondered.

His parents died, but he remembered nearly nothing of them: "little robin", blue spandex, a forehead kiss. The creature in his chest fluttered, uncertain how to proceed. Dick swallowed. 

“How?” Dick asked, tentatively. 

Tracing his cross, Jason answered, “Murdered.”

“Murdered?”

“Murdered.”

* * *

Opening the door of the bedroom, Dick heard the front door squeak. Jason ducked his head in. Dick walked over to the kitchen to pour a bowl of cereal. The door clicked close. Jason brought to fingers to his temple and flicked them in Dick’s direction as a greeting. Dick nodded.

Jason passed Dick on the way to the stove. The distinct scent of smoke came from his clothes. Dick frowned. Jason added water to his kettle and turned it on. Leaning on the counter, Jason crossed his arms and eyed Dick curiously. 

“You have super hearing. What else can you do?” 

“Sight,” Dick said between bites of textured cereal. 

“Night vision or?”

“I think I can see better at night than most, but not perfectly. I can see farther.”

“Healing abilities, super sight, and hearing.” Jason counted off on his fingers.

“My sense of taste seems worse than a normal human though.”

“Figured that out a while ago with all that cereal you eat.” 

Dick pulled the cereal defensively toward his body. He muttered, “It’s fun to eat.”

Jason’s eyes flicked up and returned to Dick’s face. “So you like texture in your food plus a shit ton of spices. Noted.”

Jason’s pocket lit up. Dick glanced at it. Jason noticed and pulled out his cellphone. Abuelita read across the top. He angled his head and shook it.

Jason asked, “There’s no point in going into another room, is there?”

“The illusion of privacy?” Dick shrugged. 

“Buenos dias,” Jason greeted.

Abuela Rosa said, “Buenos dias –“

The rest sounded foreign to Dick. Taking a bite of his cereal, Dick swallowed. He laughed, “Switching languages. Nice workaround.”

Jason’s brow knitted together. “Esta tarde? Sorry. Can you wait a minute?”

Nodding, Jason lowered the phone. He established eye contact with Dick who leaned away suspiciously. Jason mimed begging. “Abuela Rosa needs some help with chores around her house. Do you mind taking over for me?”

Dick opened his mouth to protest when the light bouncing off Jason’s necklace stopped him. Dick nodded. Jason mouthed thanks. Dick blinked. _I need to thank her anyway._

Turning to pour boiling water into a thermos, Jason began his negotiations with Abuela Rosa. He placed two tea bags in the water. Jason hung up the phone and faced Dick. “She wants you over there ‘round noon. As long as you make it there before one you’ll be good. I owe you one.”

Jason half-jogged into the bedroom. Jason finished changing as Dick dropped his spoon into his third empty bowl. Jason wore a suit. The dress shirt, slacks, and shoes seemed recycled from his priest attire. A thin, red tie took place of the collar piece. A black blazer finished the look. Jason walked briskly to drop the tea bag into the trash and closed the thermos.

Jason paused. “Do you remember where Abuela lives?”

“Yes.” 

“I’m going to Jer’s grave. I won’t be home until late.” 

Deflecting, he chuckled, “Don’t have to wait up for me.”

“Have a –“ Dick stopped. _What do you say in this situation?_

“Thanks... Well, I’m off.”

* * *

Exiting the shower, Dick checked the time. A quarter past nine. It took under five minutes to clear the table. After he washed his bowl and spoon, nothing had nothing left to do. Dick exhaled. Shifting, Dick scanned the room.

 _What can I do? Yoga?_ Dick shook his head. 

Tolerating the poses on rough flooring is different from enjoying it. Running the possibilities through his head, Dick exited the kitchen. Walking across the living room, he turned on his heels and re-entered the kitchen. In the kitchen, he spun and entered the living room. He paced the room several times.

 _Jason’s keeping stuff from you again._

Dick mentally shooed those thoughts. The discomfort remained. His mind traveled the uneasy path, pulling up the memory of a box hidden in the back of a closet. _You can uncover that least._

Dick marched into the bedroom. Carefully shifting through Jason’s things, he memorized their placement as he deduced which container held an answer. The box in question was buried in the furthest corner. Labeled winter, Dick pulled off a thick jacket. Underneath, he saw a cache of weapons. His breath caught in his throat. 

_Not a hero indeed,_ Dick echoed bitterly. 

_Those aren’t just nightmares, were they?_

The blood and the accusing eyes. 

_Those were just nightmares weren’t they?_

Dick quickly re-stacked everything. Focusing on anything other than the storm brewing between his temples, he barely held on to his peace. _I have to get out of here._

Pushing off the ground, Dick searched for his shoes. He headed to Rosa’s place. His ears searched his surroundings for potential dangers. Since morning passed, the neighborhood chaos faded. The silence interrupted only by patches of disjointed chattering, splattering of pets and the occasional rumble of a car. 

A few streets later, Dick arrived. He walked through the gate to knock on the door. Abuela opened the door. Her eyes widened with surprise.

“You’re early,” she greeted. 

Dick blinked. Reading the time off a clock in her hallway, he thought, _Actually I’m a bit late. It’s 1:15._

Her smile grew as she reached out to him. Dick reflexively leaned away but she didn’t allow that. Standing awkwardly in her hug, he mirrored her actions and kissed her on the cheek. She released him and gestured for him to enter. 

The rectangular house had faded flower print wallpaper. Abuela Rosa led him to the kitchen, although the space fused with the dining space to form one large, narrow area. Where the tiled kitchen ended a long dining table began, ending just short of the farthest wall. A patchwork of fabric sat in the center of the table half-folded with a needle sticking out the top. Scraps of cloth occupied a basket on the ground.

Abuela sat in the chair closest to the basket. She patted the seat next to her, a demand. Dick sat down. She pulled the unfinished edge of the quilt toward her lap. Miming upraised hands, palms to the sky, she looked pointedly at him. She placed a patch a fabric in his hands, using pins to connect it to the rest of the pattern.

“You came early so I’m not done yet,” she explained as if that made perfect sense.

Dick nodded blankly. 

She hummed softly as the needle weaved in and out of the fabric patching it together. Her voice and the repetitive motion felt strangely soothing. A gale of déjà-vu blew over him. His mind’s eye superimposed the image of a woman atop Abuela with a more petite stature. The cloth in her hands was a mostly solid colored blanket with colorful patches to mend rather than a quilt. 

Dick blinked. 

The image vanished into the wind, depositing in his veins a melancholic nostalgia. Dick swallowed. The emotion threatened to blow him over. His fingers twitched. Dick focused on breathing carefully and deeply. 

“Done,” Abuela Rosa said. 

She stood and pulled the quilt from his hands. Holding it up to the window, she inspected her own handiwork. The fabric featured a bluebird flying toward the sun. Folding it, she placed it atop the basket of scrap clothes. Balancing the basket against her hip, she turned.

Dick reached out. He said, “Let me carry that.”

She swatted his hand away. Dick stepped back, holding his hands up in surrender. His heel knocked into something that gave away. _Plip. Plip. Plip._ The sound of small pellets scattered across the floor. Looking down, he saw brown circled and a bag inside another bag on its side. 

He leaned down to straighten the bag. The picture of a tabby caught his eye and he fixed it. A broom zoomed into his vision. Efficient strokes gathered the cat kibble. 

“Sorry about that. I didn’t know you had a cat.”

“I don’t. Fed the ones near the park. Businesses get angry because they think it’s bad,” she chuckled. Her lyrical tones suggested how much worth she put in their opinion. 

Her thin fingers pressed onto his back. She ushered him forward. “You came to help. Help.”

“My daughter wants me to throw everything out,” she complained. “Says the house too busy, cramped that I’m too old to clean every day.”

She shook her head. “She forgets I cleaned alone for the last twenty years. I can do it for the next.”

* * *

Abuela hugged him again when Dick left her house. As he stepped onto the sidewalk, she called out, “Come help me again.”

Dick brushed the dust off his clothes. Considering the sheer amount of stuff she owned, he could come by for seven days straight without much effect. He was glad for the busy work. Dick smiled and waved at her. When the door closed, he meandered home. 

Dick pushed open the gate that separated the church from the outside world. Dick questioned the safety of never locking it but Jason countered that nothing in the church or the house was worth stealing. **_Lock._** The word echoed in his head. Unable to put his finger on that inflection, Dick blinked.

As he rounded the corner of the church, Dick noticed broad figured person rapping on the house’s door. Inhaling sharply, Dick closed his hands into fists. He breathed slowly and continued to walk calmly toward the house. He focused on smothering the thump of his steps. 

The person appeared a tad shorter that Dick with wider set shoulders. Their skin rivaled him in paleness. Two-quarter sleeves and a chest piece filled in the spaces left by the tank top they wore. He made out the individual beads of sweat on their neck before they turned around.

“Dear, L—“ they exhaled. 

Dick asked, “Who are you?”

“Bishop. You must be the guy who Jason picked up,” Bishop drawled. 

Bishop, Dick searched his mental directory. Jason mentioned Bishop a handful of times. Dick remained tense unsure if the person in front of him was the person Jason spoke of or not.

“You’re the other preacher here?”

“Yours truly. You seem disappointed.”

“I imagined someone different.”

Bishop winked. “Someone a little more prim and proper?”

Tilting his head, he thought, _Jason’s not exactly orthodox._

“You and Jason have different airs.” 

“We decided to team up after the bastard burned down both our churches.” Gesturing at the general area, Bishop continued, “I always preferred the community outreach stuff. Jason’s more of church hermit. Considering how things with Father White went, it’s not too surprising he’s got that aversion.”

“How who went?” Dick asked.

“Father White? Jerome White? Jason told you how he passed right?”

Dick said, tentatively, “A fire. What happened?”

“Oh, that’s something you oughta ask of him.” Bishop peered behind Dick.

“Why were you looking for Jason anyway?”

“Oh, spilled something on my shirt. I was wondering if he’d lend me one of his. But since he isn’t here, I’ll just hold a Bible to my chest or something.”

“Nice talking to you…,” Bishop paused.

Dick replied, “Dick. Goodbye.”

“I’ll see you around.”

Dick reached for the doorknob and twisted it. It struggled against him. Dick stared the tarnished metal. Lock. His brain echoed. Dick realized, _I don’t have a key._

Shaking his head, his scalp itched awfully. He reached up and meant a bobby pin. He blinked. Tugging two free, Dick knelt in the dirt. He scanned the area before inserting them into the lock. As he worked, his thoughts fluttered wildly: _I have more questions about Jason than answers. Isn’t that how this entire week has been? Full of unanswered and unspoken questions. I need to organize my thoughts._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> Early chapter because I am in a good mood. It's starting to get hard naming these chapters after collective nouns for birds. 
> 
> We've reached a benchmark for me. This story has officially moved past its original in the main plot. :3


	15. Prayer

_Clink. Clink._ The grave keeper (were they still called that?) unchained the cemetery gates. Jason made eye contact and immediately diverted it. Leaning on his motorcycle, Jason flicked the ashes of his cigarette away. The man stared at him. His gaze fixed on Jason’s hand. Straightening up, Jason picked up his banquet from the graveled ground. Awkwardly re-establishing eye contact, he crushed the tip of the cigarette and tossed it into the trash. Inhaling, Jason arranged his face into a smile.

“Good morning,” Jason greeted.

The man smiled in turn, “Morning.”

The groundskeeper, that was probably the more proper name, dragged the gates open. Jason nodded and walked briskly past him. Locating the sign that directed to the Christian segment of the cemetery, Jason followed the path.

“Hey, it’s been a while,” Jason greeted the gravestone.

The birds chirped in response. Sighing, he placed the white flowers on the plot which in turn reflected off the polished black stone. The two symbols of death contrasted with each other. Something profound could be said about that, Jason supposed, if he were inclined to.

“It’s been a strange week and a half.”

Dick’s face flashed in his mind. Jason swallowed. He reached for his cellphone. Absent was the three letter name he wanted. The speaker symbol showed proudly in the corner. Jason flexed his fingers, resisting the urge to set it to silent. Pocketing his, Jason glanced at the grave.

“Strange, strange for **_Gotham_** ,” Jason clarified.

“Straight out of a Tim Burton film strange.”

“I don’t know why but I’m sticking out my neck for a stranger I barely know.” Crossing his arms, Jason muttered, “It’s so fucking weird how much I want to help. I have no idea what to do. I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

He stared tombstone pointedly. His reflection stared back at him. He looked away and exhaled heavily. His shoulders dropped and clapped his palm over his mouth. He breathed out again. His breath whistled between his fingers.

Jason whispered, “Why, how do people do this?”

 _I’m talking to a slab of rock. Nice rock, but still a rock,_ Jason thought. _If Jer’s presence is here, I’m not feeling it._

He absentmindedly traced his cross. Spirits, ghosts, the supernatural- let’s say he didn’t put any more stock in them than he did the stock market. He wasn't much of an investor. Those sorts of things were nonsense. **Nonsense.**

“Ha,” Jason mocked.

 _I’m a below-average preacher waiting for a bat-themed crime fighter to help me deal with the Gotham Illuminati – All so I can protect someone who literally is a living nursery rhyme. If that’s not nonsense what is._ Jason’s derision transformed into a chuckle. Jason pressed his hand flat against his chest to silence himself. His shoulders trembled at the absurdity of his situation. It hovered somewhere between Dadaism and Surrealism. He chuckled, dryly. _How the fuck did I get into this bull?_

Catching his wind, Jason glanced over the inscription. Jerome White embellished the stone in a curving hand. Below it, simply read Philippians 2:3-4. Jason’s mind flew back in time:

_“Why’d you help me?” Jason asked._

_He averted his gaze. His eyes aimed downward. His feet bounced jerkily against the church’s floor. He peered up at broom-wielding priest from between his overgrown locks of hair._

_Jer replied, “Why not?”_

_Jason rolled his eyes._

_“Philippians 2:3-4.”_

_Jason crossed his arms and glared at Jer. Lots of people could spout Bible verses and proverbs. He’d seen more than enough corrupt social workers and for-the-camera humanitarians use those kinds of indirect answers, misleading words, that said a lot more about their self-righteous ego than meant anything._

_“My philosophy is to be kind and helpful when I can. The world is rough enough as it is. There’s no need for humans to be cruel to each other.”_

Jason blinked. Opening his eyes, he shook his head. He muttered, “Even dead you give good advice.”

Kneeling in the grass, Jason clasped his hands over his cross. After a short prayer, he sat in the silence. He had a thousand things to do, but even if this wasn’t the time for contemplation Jason needed this. He needed to extend this moment. He needed the comforting bliss of inaction. He had an inkling that these moments would soon become rare.

* * *

Jason entered his house. The evening light appeared in his clear living room, creating shadows in the shape of the chain-linked fence they passed. He paused.

_My living room is empty._

“Seriously, why? There’s nothing to steal!”

 _The Court,_ his heart raced at the thought.

His mind rushed through his possible options. He squared his shoulders. Jason turned. He noticed his coffee table flipped against the wall and his couch crammed into the hall. Angling his head, he tried to make sense of the scene. A rolled mat laid atop the seats.

Dick appeared from out of the bathroom. His gaze sweep from Jason’s face to the scene and back. Dick blinked.

“I’m sorry. I needed the room to do yoga. I hav—“

Jason interrupted, “When did you start yoga?”

“Today.” 

“Oh.”

“Yoga is nice, but I think I prefer the trapeze or at least something more active.”

Mentally demanding his body return to homeostasis, Jason joked, reflexively, “I don’t think my living room can handle that.”

Dick’s expression crunched together. His eyes flickered across Jason’s face. A question twinkled in his cloudy eyes that Jason refused to acknowledge. A moment passed. A silent tug of war. Dick relaxed his tensed shoulders.

Flicking his towel over the side of the couch, Dick chuckled, “Are you going to help me?”

Walking across the room, Jason placed a hand on the bottom of the ratty couch and another on the side. They angled it and Jason stepped backward carefully. _Clang._ His keys escaped from his jacket.

A moment later, he dropped the couch into place. Ignoring the puff of dust that rose from it, Jason directed Dick with his gaze to the coffee table. Pointedly, Jason plopped onto the couch. His butt protested the way the frame slammed into it. Shaking his head, Dick picked up the table and placed it at Jason’s feet. He grabbed Jason’s keys as he straightened up.

Dangling them just of out of Jason’s reach, Dick cited, “You never gave me a key.”

“I didn’t?” Jason shrugged. He fought the couch for a solid enough perch to reach for the key. “Guess it’s fine if you didn’t lock up. I got nothing worth stealing.”

_Except for Dick and the Talon garb._

Dick palmed the keys. Shifting them into the hand furthest from Jason, Dick sat next to Jason. He tapped the house key on the armrest. Dick corrected, “But I did, so I had to pick the lock to get in.”

“Oh! You found my emergency picks,” Jason laughed.

“Emergency lockpicks? You have emergency lockpicks, but not a spare key.”

“Anyone can use a spare key.” Jason shrugged, leaving the conclusion in the air. “How’d you get in?”

Dick held up a stripped-down bobby pin.

“Well, two picks are atop the door frame if you need them.”

Dick eyed at Jason. “Aren’t you going to give me a key?”

“Yeah, I’ll have one made once I have some time,” Jason said, shrugging. _If we stay here, we might not have a choice in that._

Jason's throat tightened. He clenched his jaw. His lungs stilled.

 _Abuelita. Jon. Emily. Marcus._ Each name made his breath catch. _I can't tell if I leave._

“Time,” Dick repeated.

Jason blinked. Glancing at Dick, he noticed the lines of Dick's face deepening with consideration. A bubble of surprise bursted in Jason. Lately, Dick seemed more expressive – more human.

“Um,” Dick forced out. “How are you?”

“Fine,” Jason smiled weakly. _As good as a two cigarette day can be._

Dick’s lips flattened as if he didn’t believe Jason.

Changing the topic, Jason said, “How’s your day? Did Abuela work you to the bone?”

Dick picked apart Jason’s expression like a crow on a carcass. Breaking eye contact, he followed the tangent Jason set up. Dick tapped the yoga mat with his foot.

“She mostly complained about her children. When I left, she gave me a bag of food when I tried to leave. I met Bishop outside.”

“Oh, by the Church?”

“No. Outside.” Dick pointed at the front door with his foot.

Jason paused. As his brain buffered, the image of Dick on his knees jimmying the lock as a butch preacher walked up from behind. Her shoulders squared, determined to set straight a misguided soul.

Jason snorted, “Were you caught?”

Dick mimed a key motion despite the keys he held on the other hand.

“No. They came before I realized that.”

“She.”

“She came, then.”

“That’s disappointing,” commented Jason who corrected his mental picture.

“Ha,” Dick said, dryly. Then, he added, “She was different from how I imagined her.”

“Yeah. Bishop Reyes's a character. It’s her colorful hair and tattoos, right?” Jason punctuated his question with a jut of his chin.

Dick lightly teased, “She’s average compared to you.”

More quietly, Dick said, “Or me.”

The air changed. Jason tracked Dick’s fingers tapping on his legs. His breath hitched. Jason diverted his eyes. Jason clenched his jaw as the peace broke. Typically, he’d rely on his priest experience in this type of situation, but somehow with Dick that felt wrong. Too impersonal. Too distant.

“Just about everything in Gotham is left or right of normal,” Jason remarked. “So here you’re just as common as me.”

Jason pushed off the couch. “It’s getting late. I’m gonna shower and hit the hay. You’re welcome to join me.”

“In the shower?” Dick joked, weakly. His left hand pressed his right flat on his lap. He flashed a quick, suggestive smile.

 _So this is the real Dick. Clever, athletic, playful._ Jason thought, again surprised. _Hides his concerns behind a joke. Who else do I know like that?_

“Sadly, I don’t think my shower and handle that,” Jason replied, ignoring the warm emotions fluttering in his chest.

“Gabe needs my help tomorrow. Can I use the house?”

“Take it, I have business to do anyway.”

“Like making me a key?”

Jason laughed and continued into his room.

* * *

Glancing at his phone, Jason noticed he had about two hours until he had to deliver a sermon. Dick and Gabriel occupied sad excuse of a dining room so he holed himself away in his room. How could he kill time until then?

He looked down again. One minute passed. As if reading his mind, his screen flashed. Roy’s name appeared across the top. Jason swiped. He released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. His ears stung from a phantom. He rubbed his ear before answering.

“Hey. What you –“

Jason stopped himself. Recalling that Dick had extraordinary hearing, Jason corrected, “Wait a minute. Let me get somewhere else.”

Jason promptly exited the room. He acknowledged Gabriel and Dick with a nod of his head and he left. To be on the safe side, he walked halfway to the church before he stopped. Flattening his free hand on his lap, Jason paced a five-foot area.

“Shoot.”

“Hello to you too, dude.”

Straightening his back, he called on his Father Todd voice. Jason warned, “Roy.”

“I got it. It’s serious time.” Roy sighed. “If it’s that bad, do you need me to-“

 _“Roy.”_ Jason discouraged.

“Okay. So I finally got through to Batman, he’s not in Gotham right now. He’s in Atlantis.”

“Atlantis?” Jason repeated. His throat itched.

“According to Batling yeah. The seventeen-year-old brat said he could deal with your problem, but I feel like he would kill it rather than deal with it.” Roy continued, exasperated, “Look, if you need help I can take the next plane east –“

“No, thanks for the info.” Jason hung up before Roy could push it.

The nicotine craving in the back of his tongue intensified. Jason exhaled a heavy breath. Arranging his expression, Jason walked back into his room. He dropped his ass into his bed and put his head in his hands.

Whatever Earth ending problem Batman was dealing with it wasn’t the one Jason needed to address. A gale slammed into him. Jason chuckled as the emotions swarmed over him. This wasn’t Metropolis – Superman was never gonna save him. It’s lucky if Batman’s in the area. Jason sighed. He didn’t know why he had faith that help would come. That he could wait for help. Touching his cross, Jason shook his head. All waiting ever did was take things away from him.

 _Now how am I going to do anything?_ Jason thought. _I’m a man trying to deal with some next level –_

 _If you need me I can hop on the next plan,_ Roy’s voice echoed in his head. Jason shook his head. The Court was a uniquely Gotham problem. If all the rumors and legends about it were true, bringing in outsiders would turn this storm into a monsoon.

_The weight of Roy's possible death on my shoulders, that I'll collapse under that–_

He had too much blood on his hands already. Straightening out, Jason slid to his closet. He glanced pass the odd arrow or three Roy left behind. Moving few boxes aside, he opened the one buried deep in the corner. Bronze accented weapons peered out of the dark fabric they sat on. Jason reached for one and grasped his own wrist.

Before his will faltered again, Jason deposited several boxes of odd items on top of the Talon uniform. Talon. Jason discovered Dick half-beaten to death and that didn’t stop him from recovering. Whatever meager fight Jason could put up meant nothing to the clandestine Goliath of The Court of Owls. _What can I do? I am no David. How can I protect Dick?_

The doubt flew in.

_Can I do anything?_

_Should I tell Dick?_

“Haha,” Gabriel’s voice pierced through the wall.

 _Should I tell Dick?_ Jason pondered again. _He’s finally started to get a normal life._

He stepped a few paces to the right. Picking up a small unadorned box, Jason observed the cross enshrined in it: _Jer’s cross. Philippians 2:3-4._

_Wouldn’t it be kinder to –_

_Not again, Todd. Stop pretending to be a good guy. J_ ason threw his head back and silently groaned. Putting the box back on his dresser, Jason checked the time. He quickly changed into more formal attire. Right now, the eye of the storm hovered over him. Jason still had time to figure it. He’d just have to do it quick.

“I’ll be back around nine,” Jason warned Dick. “Eat whatever Abuela Rosa gave us.”

Jason smiled warmly at Gabriel, “You’re welcome to stay for dinner.”

“Time flies is a dumb expression,” Gabriel muttered, apparently distracted, “that doesn’t make any sense in this sentence.”

 _Good luck,_ Jason mouthed at Dick.

He waved back.

* * *

“Before we finish, the Neighborhood Watch informed me that suspicious individuals have been appearing in the area. Be careful at night and if you wish to join the night patrol please go the Watch website.” Jason pressed his palms against his stomach. Holding down his nerves between his clasped hands. He laminated the polite smile he regularly plastered on face, reinforcing it.

As the congregation exited the church, a thought struck Jason. _What if one of them is a Talon or from the Court?_

A hand caught Jason’s shoulder and he nearly lost his pelt. Un-ruffling his feathers, Jason turned around. Marcus stood behind Jason in slacks and a collared shirt. A bag hung off his left hand. Jason side-eyed the plastic bag.

“Jason,” Marcus greeted, stretching out his right hand.

Jason tentatively shook Marcus’s hand. His eyes dissected the heavy plastic at Marcus’s side. The bag bulged, suggesting several containers.

Marcus released. “Thank you for the announcement.”

“That’s the least I can do,” Jason commented.

Jason politely added, “How was patrol?”

Marcus snorted, “Nothing much. A couple of cats nearly scared the skin off of one of the volunteers though.”

“Do you think it was all rumor?”

Marcus gestured uncertainly, “Never know here.”

 _Beep. Beep._ The sound originated from Marcus’s wrist. He glanced down at the time. His nose rose up and his lip curled into a grimace.

“Work,” Marcus explained as he extended his hand.

Between the masked monsters and the arsons, sometimes Gotham felt like it ensnared by hell.

As Jason reached to complete the handshake, Marcus shifted the bag from his hands to Jason’s. Marcus stepped back and held his palms up. Jason sighed. Opening the bag, he saw wrapped containers of food and a few fire blankets Jason jerked his head up to stare at Marcus who shrugged his shoulders.

Marcus grinned, “To hold you over until Friday.”

“Friday?”

“Dinner.”

I don’t have time for this. Jason inhaled, building up an energy to protest. Halfway through, Jason sighed. He never won that argument at least not during the week of Jerome’s death. Jason nodded reluctantly.

“Don’t forget um…” Marcus snapped his fingers, “Dick. Dick.”

“How is he? Is he still staying with you?”

“Fine,” Jason answered, biting down on the white lie. “Yes.”

“Ah, our Jason’s family has grown.”

“Not in that type of relationship with him.” 

“Oh, no, no –" Marcus waved his hands. “The last few years you’ve been –“

“You don’t need to be dating to be family,” Marcus restarted his sentence.

 _What is my relationship with Dick?_ Jason hesitated. _At first, he reminded me of me, but now – Does it matter?_

Ignoring that quagmire, Jason appeased, “I’ll ask him if he wants to come.”

“Good, Em’s angry that everyone met him except for her.”

Marcus glanced at his watch again before scurrying away. Jason waved until Marcus was out of sight. Jason sighed. _Who cares what I call our relationship? I’ve already decided to protect Dick. That’s not gonna change._

 _Now how to do that?_ He grasped his cross almost pleadingly.

Silence answered.

Jason squeezed tighter. The cross bit into his fingers. Pain stabbed his nerves.

_I can't afford to keep sitting on my ass._ Jason sighed. _Who I am kidding? I never had that luxury before – it was about time I stopped pretending I did. For my sake. For **Dick's** sake._

 _No_ – Jason corrected himself – _What are **we** going to do?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this chapter is a little on the short side.
> 
> For anyone who is curious, the ages of the bat family members who have shown up or have been mentioned are as follows: Bruce is 52, Dick is 34, Jason is 27, Stephanie is 27, and Damian is 17. 


	16. Bellowing

_What will I do?_ Dick frowned.

Angling his head, he made out one — no two individuals watching his home. Their rhythms barely interrupted the natural cadence of the neighborhood. Their hiccups could have easily been mistaken for a cat or rat if he had not been looking for the signs: the sounds and movements coming from the direction of an ideal scouting position. The way the hairs on his neck stood up when he peered into the specific shadows confirmed his suspicions. _Where did the third one go? Why did they leave their partner alone?_

Lights passed by in pairs or threes. Dick blinked. Chatter interrupted the patterns of the night: cars, sirens, and pets. His stomach tensed at the sight. The patrol picked up pace near darkness, the ideal stake-out locations as if instinctively escaping the unknown. He tensed up until they were out of immediate danger.

_Immediate danger. I should leave._

Jason popped into his mind. Dick swallowed; his mouth suddenly dry. The wriggling mass of no in his chest flared up, chasing out the enjoyable, slightly overwhelming heat in his heart out of his mind. He jumped to his feet.

Flexing his fingers, he glanced at the closet door. He bounced on his heels. Adrenaline hummed in his system. It taunted him, encouraged him, shouted at him. **Move. Do anything.**

Dick had the strange sense that he had always been more of a man of action. That this was the longest he remained in one place willingly in decades.

 _Stop. Breath._ Dick forced his shoulders to relax. _They are just watching for now. If I panic, people will get hurt._

 _Money, food, clothes._ He pressed his palms flat on his thighs. _Backpack. Travel._

He sat on the ground. Leaning against the dresser, Dick sighed. The buzz in his muscles familiarly tempted him into impulsive action. He channeled his excess energy into his feet. Rocking his leg, he ran through the proper plans.

_Stealing from Jason would be wrong._

A small voice whispered, _Take him with you._

Dick closed his eyes.

Reluctance flooded him. 

_The warmth of the three room house._

_The goosebumps of the blood of someone he cared about on his hands._

_The comfort of Jason._

_The chill of seeing a new name on gravestone._

Reluctance to leave. Reluctance to stay.

_Creeeeee._

His thoughts scattered and reassembled. _Jason._ Only Jason wouldn’t trigger his fight response in this situation. Despite everything, he trusted Jason. 

“Fuck, I should…”

“Dick you awake?”

The swirl of emotions and thoughts halted Dick’s tongue.

“I guess not. It’s late,” Jason whispered. “I guess that’s good. He needs the rest while he can still get it.”

_While I can get it? What does that mean?_

Jason tiptoed into the bedroom. The whoosh of his priest robes gave away his location. He stilled in front of Dick, who feigned sleep. Fabric wrapped around him. A warm breath ghosted his cheek.

_Jason put a blanket on me._

Instead of changing and getting into bed, Jason stood there. Dick felt his gaze on him - altering between him and something else. It switched at regular intervals. Jason shifted. The items atop the dresser scratched the wood as they moved.

“It can’t hurt.”

Jason’s heartbeats changed pace. An answer to his statement that Dick wasn’t sure how to interpret. Five minutes later, Jason changed clothes. The lights went out. The bed creaked as Jason hopped into it.

Dick opened his eyes.

Jason left a space for him.

The pleasantness heat he was unwilling to name flashed in his chest again.

From the beat of his heart and the evenness of his breath, Jason wasn’t asleep. It looked like both of them had a lot of things on their minds. Dick flicked his eyes toward the closet: _‘Not a hero nor a villain.’_

 _Should I get answers first or?_ His questions blocked his throat. He tilted his head up. His gaze fixed on the ceiling. _Do I need answers?_

The blood, the screams, the stalkers outside. He didn’t need to be a genius to figure out what kind of person he used to be. The memories flicking in the corners of his mind just reinforced the terribleness of his actions.

 _One more day can’t hurt._ He didn’t believe that lie even if he wanted to. _This house. Jason. This neighborhood. The little good I know. Can anyone blame me for holding onto for as long as I can?_

* * *

Dick stretched his arms toward the living room ceiling. Twisting his torso, he peeked at the bedroom. Considering how Jason tossed and turned last night, Dick wasn’t surprised that Jason hadn’t woken up from the noise he made clearing the space. Dick relaxed his arms at his sides and took a deep breath. Leaning forward, he placed his hands on the mat and extended his right leg upward. A few minutes later, Dick straightened up. He rested for half a minute before resuming the pose with his left leg. The tension from last night began to fade from his system.

He wished it did anyway.

Dick shook his head. He abandoned the rest of his yoga set and went straight into ending stretches. Inside his brain, a storm raged undoing any benefit that the exercise gave him. He put everything back in place. Then, he entered the shower.

Steam filled the cubical. Dick enjoyed the hot water rushing down on him. Dick imagined his concerns washing into the drain with the soapy liquid. For the briefest second, he could trick himself into feeling lighter.

 _Screech. Screech._ They flooded back.

Dick focused his ears. The pattering of the shower muted the noise. He picked up the noises of one person from the direction of the kitchen. The coffee machine beeped on.

 _Jason._ Dick exhaled and quickly finished his shower.

Jason acknowledged Dick with a glance and nod. His fingers tightened around the handle of his mug. **Ba-dum. Ba-dum.** Jason’s beat echoed loudly in the silence. _Beep._ The coffee machine beckoned for Jason who turned to fill his cup. His eyes never quite leaving Dick’s vicinity.

Dick walked over to the fridge. His hand hovered over the milk, waiting for a cue. The moment passed and Dick poured his cereal anyway. He sat down and began to eat. His skin itched and the strange tension between them continued from the prior night.

Jason pulled out his seat and sat, coffee in one hand and a bagel in the other. He placed his cup at the edge of the table. He leaned back in his seat. His eyes only ever briefly leaving Dick’s direction before returning.

It clicked.

 _He’s analyzing me,_ Dick swallowed.

Jason’s blue eyes dissected him. Serious, Dick’s skin crawled. Jason was a serious person and normally kept an emotional distance. But, with his banter and small actions, Jason undercut it. This was different. This was Jason without the usual defenses. _Why?_

Dick closed his eyes and lowered his head. They had entered a mutually unique relationship that was comfortable although it had an odd and imperfect existence. Dick opened his mouth. The words sat in his throat. His thoughts scrambled. Dick swallowed.

They were two birds circling a perch. Would they share or would they fight?

* * *

A thick red tome plopped to Dick’s feet. He rubbed the dust off his face with his sleeve. Leaning down, he grabbed the overstuffed book. The edges of photographs stuck out from the edges. Dick glanced over shoulder.

“Where would you like me to put this?” Dick asked.

“Hmm?” Abuela Rosa peeked out from several bolts of fabric. She stood up, brushing off odd bits of threads from her clothes. Dick transferred the album to her hands.

“Ah! Do not move!” she gasped.

Dick froze. A touch later, a photo entered her hands. She observed it and sighed. Her mouth twisted into a smile. The light in her eyes dimmed. Her hand moved to her pocket and pulled out a rosary. She pressed the cross to her lips and stared at the image. Her actions felt strangely private. Dick averted his gaze.

“Sorry, sorry,” she said, lowering the picture.

“This álbum. I thought I lost these memories.”

From the corner of his eye, Dick saw four figures. Two of African descent and two that appeared vaguely familiar. The color and dimensions suggested the picture although earlier could not have been more than a decade or so old.

Dick asked, impulsively, “What type of memories?”

“Different types,” she replied, handing the picture to Dick.

She tightly held the album between her elbow and her side. Shuffling toward Dick, she entered his personal bubble. Dick observed the image. Four men posing in what Dick guessed was the rose garden in the front yard. Their clothes stained with patches of moisture and dirt. A woman kneeled in front of them. Her hair bundled up atop her head.

“That one is Jon, Marcus, Padre White, Simon,” she introduced each person from left to right. “Jazmín, my daughter.”

 _Jon and Marcus,_ Dick processed. _Oh, the thrift store owner and the, um, police officer._

The third man caught Dick’s attention. While he met Jon and Marcus several years after this image was taken, Dick had only heard whispers of Jerome White. His shining, wide smile and crinkled, bright eyes made him seem kind.

“This the person who raised Jason?” Dick asked in a whisper. It almost felt wrong to pry.

“Yes. This picture from spring,” she frowned, “seven-eight years before he died.”

Her fingers touched the rosary in her pocket. Jason had the same habit with his cross. Dick looked away, allowing her as much privacy as he could.

“Who is next to him?”

“Simon. Gabriel’s dad.”

Dick swallowed. He’s walked away from one touchy topic onto another. From what Gabe told Dick, Simon wasn’t in this world anymore. The image suddenly weighed down his hands. Dick handed it to Abuela Rosa. She slipped it between some pages.

“Let’s take a break. I have lemonade,” she sighed.

Dick nodded. They walked to the kitchen in an agreeable silence. Abuela hugged the photo album to her chest as if her memories could escape otherwise. Dick wondered briefly how his albums might look. An empty book appeared in his mind’s eye. Tapping his fingers on his thigh, he emotionally shifted away from his thoughts.

He sat down at the table and scanned the room. The bag of cat food he’s kicked over previously looked out from between a space between the counters. The top sealed off with a large, yellow clip. Next to it, new bag leaned on a box of plastic plates and bowls.

Sipping at the pale liquid, Dick struggled to look away from the album. The crinkle of plastic and rustle of pictures tickled his ears each time she turned a page. The dull thump of a page flipping over and crumple of it flattening out implied the fullness of her album and life.

Curiosity won. Dick observed Abuela reading the pictures. The aura around her again felt intimate. The pictures became fragments of a life lived. Her eyes looked past the ink to a time and place Dick did not know. Dick caught glimpses of people, places, and lots of cats. Newspaper clippings would have seemed misplaced if not for the number of them.

Abuela glanced up and she smiled softly, “Oh. This must be very boring—“

Dick shook his head. A slight loneliness tinted his emotions but watching Abuela reminisce made a hazy and soft feeling rise up in Dick. He didn’t have a name for this sensation, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Her expressions hinted at a story and Dick wanted to experience it even if only through the space they shared.

“Would you like to listen to an old woman talk?” she questioned.

Dick nodded.

She dragged the chair closer and flipped to a random page. 

“No. No. Why do not pick one?”

She placed her memories in his lap. Dick paused. She smiled encouragingly at him. He looked down at black and white images. A loose newspaper clipping sat between the pages. Pressing it down, the headline read: _Freak Lockdowns Court._ A woman with a thick plait stood in front of the Gotham Courthouse surrounded by a wall of briars. A picket sign in her hand censored by the editor. Dick blinked. She reminded him vaguely of Poison Ivy.

“Ah, that. I got three nights in jail for that.”

Dick hummed, “She’s you?”

“Yes.” Her laughter sounded like wind chimes. “Your generation did not invent protesting. Me, my daughter and her friends, we all did it before. I remember—” she tapped the clipping — “We had a lot to protest then.”

“Sex. Skin-color. We had a lot to fight for.” She thumbed her rosary as if counting. She sighed, “We fought for our children so you would not have to.” She glanced at him, smiling sadly. “We thought we could fix everything. Stop all the people from hating because of sex or color or illness or powers.”

“I thought people with records couldn’t get nursing jobs.”

She leaned in, whispering: “Things were different then.It was easier for people to overlook those sorts of things.”

“Ha, youthful digressions they called it. I never stopped.”

“You didn’t?” Dick blinked, imagining Abuela marching in Gotham’s streets.

“I am not as loud as I used to be, but I have picked my hills to fight on. I would rather lose my license than turn someone away. Their death would be on my hands. ”

 _That fits,_ Dick thought, smiling. Abuela and Jason were not normal considering how much they had helped him. Even if either of them might claim otherwise, their kindness and lack of self-preservation skyrocketed beyond normal ranges. That her consideration and strong personality showed up in more mundane things did not surprise him.

“Was your husband as active as you?”

“Oh no!” She chuckled. “He was an accountant. He always called me his little rebel-rouser…”

Dick settled in. The faint memory of incense, a cramped trailer, tarot cards, and a roundtable overlapped with his present. He enjoyed the way her eyes crinkled as she spoke of her husband.

* * *

The Gotham City Library existed on the same street as the courthouse. He briefly considered searching for evidence of Abuela’s protest before the way his skin crawled discouraged it. In the back of his mind, he thought, _they wouldn’t allow such stains to stay anyway._ The older buildings in Gotham made uncomfortable. Gut recalled something unpleasant about them his mind could not quite grasp. He walked faster near them, keeping as much distance as possible.The crowd and even its ear biting chattering became a welcome sight. Dick bent his figure and lowered his head to blend into the crowd.

Dick exhaled, spotting a small plaque honoring the Martha Wayne Foundation. Gabe waved at Dick from the steps of the library. The rectangular building appeared newer than the ones surrounding it. Less threatening and intimidating with its more contemporary design, Dick exhaled a breath he forgot he was holding.

“Hey, so like I only got two hours before I got to head out.”

“Then we better get to work.”

The interior of the library glowed. The windows bathed the area in a soft haze of light. Walking to the left of the counter, Gabe and Dick met a cluster of wooden, round tables. Each had between two to four chairs suggesting a workspace for small groups. Further left, parallel to the far wall, were rows of long rectangular tables that served a similar purpose.

Gabe picked the nearest, free table, and plopped his bag down. Dick shifted the chair on the carpet to face toward the closest exit. Dick sat and waited for Gabe to pull out his work. The teen tossed a copy of Old Yeller roughly on the table.

Dick raised an eyebrow.

“The dog died… why it gotta die?” Gabe frowned. “Why do all the books schools tell you to be fucking sad?”

Dick shrugged.

“They want to experience something through the book,” Dick said, unconvincingly.

Wrinkling his nose, Gabe said, “So Ms. Turner returned our worksheets and gave us a little _project.”_

He emphasized the word like a curse. Gabe set the sheet in front of Dick. Red marks and other corrections sporadically appeared on the page. A scribble on top of the page had three circles around it: _#10 lookup origin._

“Explain.”

Gabe sighed, “We have to do a _presentation_ on an idiom we researched.”

The quotes obvious around the word obvious from his tone. Gabe typed the idiom into his cellphone: _curiosity killed the cat._ Wikipedia appeared and Gabe opened it about shuffled his items around until he found a paper and a pen. Dick helped Gabe skim a few sites to summarize the transition from care killed the cat to curiosity killed the cat and it's most popular variation.

An hour later, Gabe and Dick exited the library. The sun hung two-thirds of the way across the sky. Dick surveyed the area and noted that the library appeared not to the only recently renovated building on the street. The Powers building and a few other businesses stood out against their worn neighbors.

“Wait.”

“Yes? What? I need to run.”

“We might not be able to meet up soon.”

“What? Why?!”

**_Buzz. Buzz._ **

Gabe jumped. His head whipped between Dick and the direction of his work. He rubbed his head.

“I’ll find ya later. Why don’t you have a phone? Urgh. You can’t just spring this on a brother and err. Bye!”

The boy ran off.

Watching the back fade into the distance, Dick frowned. He said it on an impulse, but distancing himself from innocents was a good idea. Protecting himself and Jason would be hard enough without others been dragged into it.

Dick meandered toward Jason’s house. Apprehension weighed down his feet. He stopped in Kane Park and found a spot of sun to sit in. He exhaled and laid down. The neighborhood muted the sound of the city: traffic, people, birds. Dick opened his eyes and breathed deeply. The soundscape tickled the back of his mind.

The sky darkened. Smoke rose in the distance. Another fire accosted Gotham from beyond the horizon. The redness of the sky turned the heavens into a flare. The darkness of the oncoming night made the red more violent.

Dick froze. He pressed his palms into his temples. His eyelids reflexively clenched tight.

_The sky glowed red. Bilious plumes of dark grey filled the horizon. He moved from shadow to shadow to locate the target at the Church of Our Lady._

_“Help. Help us! I don’t want to die!” **Bam.** Doors rattled and groaned as bodies slammed into them. The many voices hoarse and weak from smoke inhalation mixed with the bellowing anguish of others’ screams. Bam. “Please!”_

Dick coughed. Clenching his head, the memory rattled loose. His chest tightened. Dick counted off his breaths. The phantom taste of smoke covered his tongue. More concerning, he recognized the church. Dick rolled onto his side and closed his eyes. He willed himself to ignore the implications of that memory.

 _You have to go back some time,_ a fraction of him reminded.

 _Jason’s acting strange. Like something is on his mind._ Dick wasn’t sure if wanted to know why. His anxious welt up and Dick wanted nothing more than to scale a tree, anything to escape these heavy emotions.

His conscious responded, _care killed the cat._

Dick shifted. That proverb transformed in such a way that its modern meaning seems to run counter to the original intent. Dick blinked and sat up.

Care constricted his chest. Care bound his feet. Care sealed his tongue. Care also reminded him to analyze his surroundings. Care convinced him to seek shelter. Care urged him indoor before nightfall. Care pushed his heart into his stomach when Jason spoke: “We should talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter was a day late.
> 
> I rewrote the beginning of this chapter and modified some parts. The tweaks I made as I edited the fic stacked up this chapter. They'll also probably affect the later chapters but I am hoping I can manage to edit them without a delay. 


	17. Storytelling

Blue stared into blue.

Jason blinked.

Looking down at the nicked and stained dinner table, Jason thought of interviews, lectures, and other one-sided conversations. He sighed. From his periphery, Dick’s crossed arms reinforced the unpleasant association. Jason peered up toward stormy eyes darting around his face. 

Jason bit his lip. Shifting in his seat, he crossed his ankles. The words stuck to the sides of this throat like fish bones. He swallowed. The thin, spiny phrases prickled on the way down.

“What did you,” Dick asked, enunciating each letter, “want to say?”

Jason blinked. _Uneasy._ Dick’s demeanor screamed it.

We need to talk: who likes those words?

His gut did not agree with that common answer. Without other cues, he couldn’t deduce anything more than Dick looked flighty. His body angled toward the door best he could with his back facing it. A robin spooked by the shadow overhead.

“Actually, let’s go for a walk,” Jason suggested.

_Didn’t someone say it’s better to talk to someone on a walk?_

_And it’d be harder for him to punch you,_ a voice unhelpfully chimed in. _Not by much since he **was** a Talon, but still…_

Dick nodded. His irises reflected Jason without any apparent change. The cloudiness obscured the emotions Jason attempted gleam from the windows to the soul. He pushed off the table and gestured for Dick to stand. He grabbed a jacket, shoving Jer’s cross into his pocket for encouragement.

Toward Kane Park, better than walking to downtown. Jason organized his thoughts as they exited the house.

The night slapped him sober. The cool, fresh wind pushed the stagnated, house air from his lungs. It took the remaining bone fragments from his throat. Jason inhaled and pulled his jacket closer to his side. He inhaled. A voice interrupted his yet-spoken thoughts.

“Father Todd?”

Jason paused and turned. On the sidewalk, Marcus and another stout man came into view. Marcus’s partner held a flashlight and pointed the light too close to Jason’s face. Lights danced behind his lids.

 _Definitely not a cop or he would not night blind me,_ Jason internally groaned as he glanced away. From the corner of his eye, Jason watched Dick stop behind him. His hands jammed into his pockets.

“Good evening? Is it evening? Father Todd. What are you doing this time of night?” 

_David._ He came once or twice a month like most people if Jason was being honest. Plastering on a professional smile, Jason replied, “Getting some fresh air.”

“Ah, I see. Be careful, something spooked this guy earlier,” David continued, yanking his thumb in the direction of Marcus.

“Something?” Dick repeated, lowering his pitch.

Jason reflexively glanced at Dick who narrowed his eyes at the third man.

“A cat. I was not spooked, David.” Marcus rolled his eyes.

David chuckled, “That tubby kitty-cat got you pissing your pants.”

Jason cleared this throat, mostly for Marcus’s benefit.

“Sorry,” David coughed.

Marcus adjusted his stance. He skimmed Jason. Dick; however, Marcus scanned carefully like how Jason imagined Marcus might size up an unreliable witness. Jason pointedly shuffled between them. Marcus stepped back and half-smiled.

“At least you are together.” If Jason’s ears didn’t betray him, Marcus muttered, “Not like Señora Rosa. That crazy, old woman.” 

“We won’t be out for long.” _I hope._

Marcus nodded. “Stay together. With the arsonist, shadows, and the crazy people here, it’s better to stay together.”

“I won’t leave his side,” Jason promised more to himself than to Marcus. 

_Unless he wants me to, I don’t want —_ Jason more closed his eyes than blinked. _I’m getting ahead of myself._

Jason had no plans to separate from Dick for tonight. If he needed it, Jason would trail behind to give them each space if the conversation went badly. He mostly hoped the walk back would let both of them cool down in that case.

A few minutes after they departed, Dick cleared his throat. “Have we walked enough?”

Jason recognized the park sign with a surprised. Moving them under a street light, Jason touched his cross. Jason closed his mouth and diverted his gaze. He scanned the area. Most houses in the neighborhood appeared dark. To the left, several yards ahead was the Kane Park. Jason traced his cross. From the periphery of his vision, Jason saw Dick tense and breathe deeply.

Jason nodded.

“This place is as good as any.”

_Now where to start. Where did all my plans go? I went over this dozens of times… The best way to —_

Dick angled his body away from Jason. He checked the shadows still as anxious as in the house. Their eyes met — Dick’s remained unchanged. _Unchanged._

_I’m making him as nervous as everything else._

Jason shuffled in place and exhaled heavily.

 _Shut up,_ Jason shouted internally at his nerves. _There’s no perfect way to go about this._

 _Be honest,_ a surprisingly helpful, paternal voice reminded him. _No half-truths._

“Fuck. I don’t know where to start. But,” Jason swallowed.

He stroked the warped cross in his pocket. Pressing his fingers almost painfully onto it, he sought encouragement. He threw in a silent prayer for good measure.

“Did I tell why I became a priest?”

“Honoring your deceased —” Dick ducked his head — “father.”

“Yeah, it was to honor him and to pay things forward. Together that tells only half the story…”

Jason pinched his cheeks and mouth in one hand. His jaw tight and unwilling. The rough massage did nothing to loosen his lips. His inherent sense of privacy pinned his tongue down.

 _Privacy?_ His unhelpful voice — he finally placed it as his accusing tone from his street days. _Right._

 _You get privacy. Another place to hide: Father Todd, ‘the right thing to do’, ‘it’s best for him’, privacy._ He heard in the tone a proud child with his pointed his thumb to his chest and his chin projected pridefully out. It stood on a mountain of tires from his childhood and glared down at him. It spat, _You never stopped being me, did you? Never stopped distrusting people._

“Can we move toward the benches? Tired.”

Out walking his insincerities was impossible but impulse could not be reasoned with. 

Jason lamely added, “Of standing.”

Stepping out of the light, he heard Jer whisper: _Jase, be kind to him and yourself._

“I entered seminary when I was 18. Hm. Becoming a deacon takes, um, takes about fives years if you go straight through. I didn’t become one until about two or three years ago.”

Dick opened and closed his mouth.

“About halfway through, I,” Jason continued through before he accepted whatever out Dick’s interruption would provide him, “It hit me. I had my entire life in front of me. Being a minister would be a lifelong dedication.”

“Er, it even bugged me that’d I’d have to be celibate,” Jason chuckled, bitterly. “They tell us at orientation — before even the first class. All of us will have a crisis of faith at least once.”

Jason’s eyes rolled on once.

“I took mine at twenty in the nearest bar. Woke up to my phone ringing.”

His ears resounded. Jason clenched the cross in a fist. His shoulders reflexively pulled up. His knees locked. Every part of his body tensed up.

“Saw Jer’s name. Decided I didn’t want the lecture. Pinned a pillow over my head and went back to sleep.”

Jason whispered, “Noon next day. I had a voicemail. GDPD informing me my dad died in a fire.”

He rolled his shoulders down. He released the cross. Jason inhaled deeply.

“I never told anyone but — he did call me. That night. Still haven’t gotten the balls to listen to it.”

Dick paled.

Jason shuffled a little closer.

“I went downhill real quick. Took over a year. Took Abuelita and Em and Marcus and Jon badgering me. Bishop Reyes showing up on my doorstep asking about pooling our funds to rebuild.”

Jason traced his cross.

“I became a priest out of guilt, atonement, and spite as much as I did out of respect.”

He confessed, “And because I didn’t know what else I could do.” 

“Why are you telling me this?” Dick sounded almost as breathless and exhausted as Jason felt.

“I— I,” Jason bite his cheek. “Twice. I lost someone I care about.”

_His mom’s hollow, brown eyes watched him from the fetal position she took when his father went into another of his rages._

_Jer dialed his number from inside a collapsing confessionary._

“Someone I loved without doing anything. I just don’t want to regret it again. It’s getting dangerous. Let’s get out of here. Together, or alone if you want, that is.”

“I killed him. Do you still want to escape together?”

Jason collapsed onto the bench they finally reached. _Did he?_

The unnatural tint of the sky reminded Jason that the fires haven’t stopped. He knew Dick. The man who did magic and acrobatics to amuse children did not at all mesh with the man who could turn Gotham red and black with fire.

“No, the arsonist did. You aren’t the arsonist.”

“Then, I let him die.”

Jason thanked the arrangement of the lamp for hiding his face in shadow. The darkness gave him a moment to think. He watched the wild way the yellow light reflected off of Dick’s face.

“No you —”

_Don’t. He’s adult. Don’t deny him how he feels._

“From the start, I knew you weren't good.”

“That isn’t my question.”

 _Oh, damn I want a smoke._ Jason knew that wild-eyed look. He’d seen it in the mirror. Sometimes he still saw it judging him from the corner of his eye.

“The arsonist killed him. He jammed the door and windows. He set the fires,” Jason repeated — recited from memory.

Dick crossed his arms, determined not defensive.

“I am as guilty as you.”

Dick stepped back.

“I ignored the call of a dying man, but I didn’t kill him. You didn’t rescue him, but you didn’t kill him. We didn’t kill him,” Jason said, surprised about his sincerity. “We didn’t abandon him. We picked inaction.”

Jason shrugged, his shoulders the lightest they’ve been in years.

“It wasn’t a good choice. But we weren’t the ones who decided to set a church of people on fire and seal all the exits.” 

“I’m a criminal.”

“So am I.”

Jason half expected Dick to slug him – half wanted that. Physical pain he could deal with. This emotional stuff exhausted him. His body spent. His soul jumped between the highest and lowest quantum level — not yet settled on which fit better.

“Just about everyone in Gotham is crooked some way or another.”

Dick pinched his temples. “I’m a mercenary”

“Was. You get to choose that.”

“How are you so calm?” Dick said, but Jason heard _'Why are you going so far for me?'._

 _Roy would do this for Lian. Abuelita for Jazmin. Marcus for Jon,_ Jason blinked. _When Jer died, I lost the one person who put me first… and I’d become attached to Dick. Humans are weird, becoming so attached so quickly and strongly. When did happen… Earlier today? When Abuela… no._

“I’ve had the benefit of seven years accept the truth.” 

_Although I didn’t forgive myself until just now._

Jason’s cigarette need faded. His soul settled into a pleasant contentment. Jason found that his lips turned up into a smile. 

“There was a point I had to m— to start moving on,” Jason added in his mind. _At some point, I decided I wanted you as part of that future._

“I don’t know who you used to be. I do know,” Jason slouched to catch Dick’s eye. “I do the current Dick Grayson. It might’ve been a stupid choice to hope you wouldn’t remember how shitty your past was — How much do you remember?”

“Piecework. Specific parts of some missions. I murdered people.”

“I understand if you want to spend the rest of your moping.”

Dick glared.

Jason chuckled and leaned back into the bench.

“I get if you need some time to figure it all out. But you aren’t going to convince me the same person who killed all those people. Use your new life to make up for troubles Talon if you want but you aren’t the same guy who killed them. You wouldn’t be so guilty ‘bout coming with me if it was so.”

Jason reached into his pocket for Jer’s cross. Something to hold other than a cigarette or a lighter. His fingers met a different metal. He smiled. Pulling them out, he held his key out.

“We should make a key for you while we still call that place home.” Rolling the key from finger to finger, Jason ignored the cheesy words in his chest. “I’ve said my piece. I’ll try to wait as long as you need before you say yours. At least before Gotham tries to kill us.”

* * *

Dick was gone.

Jason tugged his hair and clenched until it stung. Releasing, Jason groped his dresser for his lighter and smokes. He stood outside in the early morning light. Jason exhaled gray. The nicotine muffled the grumbling of his stomach. It jolted his mind. The red-hot tip of cigarette threatened to lick his fingers. One. Two later. Jason rubbed his fingers together.

 _He needs some space to think,_ Jason knew. _But it stings to open my heart to Dick and for him to vanish._

Glaring at the sun, Jason ducked into his house. The Dark Knight wasn’t coming and Jason had to be ready if Dick returned. Jason paused. Touching his cross, Jason couldn’t blame Dick if he decided to scram. Jason marched forward.

_I have to be ready if he comes back or if they come._

Jason glanced at his bedroom, thinking of the box still buried in his closet. He marched over. He picked it up and taped it up. Throwing a label on it, he wrote Roy’s name and address on it as a half-baked backup. If mailing wouldn’t have attracted too much attention, he would’ve done that. He was in over his head.

Turning around, he grabbed a notepad and a pen. Jason dropped onto his shitty couch. The worn out spring stabbed him, reminding him to keep focused. Jason began his list. Doing too much too quickly would key the Court into their plans to run. They’d left them alone so far, but Jason doubted that would be allowed to continue if they booked it. Starting with the quickest and hardest one, Jason picked up his phone.

“Hello, this Officer Marcus Guerrero of Gotham PD.”

“Mar— Officer it’s,” Jason swallowed. “Jason Todd.”

“Jason? Is there a problem?!”

“No, I called you,” he sighed. “You said that if I wanted I could get Jer’s file. That it’s been long enough it don’t matter. Can I get it?”

“Yeah, sure,” his tone softened. “Do you mind if I ask why now?”

“It’s been long enough.”

_And it’s probably one of my last chances to read it._

“Ok, well if you stop by in a few hours I can nab it for you.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem, kid.”

Stretching his arms above his head, Jason moved. He found cleanish clothes. He yanked his shoes on. Every person he knew had the vice of multitasking or attempting it. Five minutes later, Jason hopped onto his bike and roared away. The downtown streets stalled with cars and people. Jason found the first building with the appropriate sign and parked.

Having a key made was shockingly quick. He smiled to himself. The image of Dick picking his lock amused him but Dick entering their home without issue warmed his heart.

_Why didn’t I do this earlier?_

Unhelpful-Jason said, _You’re an idiot. You weren’t all in yet. You’re even using it as a weapon now._

 _Shut up,_ Jason frowned.

After pocketing it, he found the nearest [----] ATM. He saw the machines of this company once a blue moon, but that was the exact reason he had a prepaid card from that company. His and Abuela’s paranoia paid off. This card never had more than a couple of hundred on it but he would take what he could get starting over.

Gotham PD never had a quiet day. Even without the clowns, everyday crooks kept all the precincts busy. Marcus worked in the located in downtown or as Marcus said, “The open that the dumb bat spotlight.”

Getting and out was a nightmare. He found a corner and waited.

“Father Todd? Did one of these punks call you in?”

“They deserve the comfort of their faith,” Jason reflexively said, before turning. “Commissioner Gordon. No, I am here on personal business.”

He’d worked with Commissioner Barbara Gordon before perhaps he could use that to his advantage.

“Personal business?”

Jason nodded as he said, “You know how my predecessor passed. Officer Guerrero said I could pick up the report on it.”

“Guerrero, he was just sent out on a call,” she smiled, apologetically, “We’re short-staffed. Wait here, I think I get it for you if he’s already set it up.”

“Thank you, Commissioner. I can’t possibly —”

“Don’t worry. It’ll only take a second.”

_Thank you, I don’t have to deal with a second concerned speech from Marcus now._

The sun flew across the sky as Jason checked off actions off his list. As night approached, Jason headed home. His muscles ached like he ran a marathon. Rubbing his temples, the emptiness of the house in front of him stung. Jason looked the file under his armpit. Slinging it on the coffee table, he closed his eyes. Getting the file seemed like a good idea, but didn’t it show he distrusted Dick. That Dick had every right to avoid him right now.

“Urgh.” Jason kicked his coffee table. Shoving the file between the couch cushions, he decided to make up his mind in the morning.

As he wound down for the night, Jason taped the key on the inside of the door with notes on the dining table and bedroom door for good measure.

_I’d rather give it to him myself, but…_

Dick seemed to be avoiding him. Jason’d rather throw away sentiment for practicalness in this situation. He moved his blankets and pillow to the couch for similar reasons.

Stepping outside, Jason pulled out a cigarette. The glowing red tip matched the hazy red in the distance. Jason frowned. It seemed like the fires were walking closer and closer each night.

Crushing the tip on his house front, Jason dialed Bishop. He almost felt relieved when it went straight to voicemail. He left a message asking Bishop to handle the church duties for the next week.

 _It’s not the most appropriate way to go about this,_ Jason knew, _but I don’t think I can handle life right now. Normal life, when everything is so fucking absurd._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I missed a week. I'm sorry. Life and all that. We've reached the area of the fic where more revisions are needed so the next chapter may als.o be delayed. I had to re-write this entire chapter since the tweaks through posting made it not work as well


	18. Announcement

I need to take a short hiatus to hash out the end of this fic. Some tweaks I made while posting impact a lot of scenes so rather than have an erratic schedule I decided to put this fic on break until June 9th. Sorry for leaving y'all on a chill hanger of sorts. 


End file.
